


She Who Must Live a Lie

by TopazRubyQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Canon Compliant, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, French Characters, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, I kind of hate calling this romance but it sure looks a lot like it, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Not a villain redemption story, POV Alternating, POV Original Character, POV Tom Riddle, Psychology of a villain, References to Depression, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Teen Romance, Tragedy, War with Grindelwald, World War II, except only one of them knows that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopazRubyQueen/pseuds/TopazRubyQueen
Summary: "I will love torturing you far more than I ever loved you..."Years before these words are spoken, Tom Riddle made every effort to convince a certain witch that heisin love with her. Unsuspecting that this seemingly devoted to her, brilliant fellow student could be behind the coming attacks at Hogwarts, or be investigating the dark art of creating Horcruxes, Charlotte Soleil, a former Beauxbatons student, falls perilously deep into his trap, and in love. Already on his quest for power and immortality, the young Voldemort never loses sight of his true aim, but Charlotte gives him reason to doubt his answers to questions he never thought he'd even ask.-An exploration of what love truly is and why the man who called himself Lord Voldemort never experienced it-





	1. Being Exceptional

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks so much for checking out my story!
> 
> I started out writing this because I thought it was hard to imagine how Tom Riddle could have fooled everyone into believing he was an ordinary person, while committing murders and making horcruxes at the same time, so I wanted to try to write a story of what that might have looked like.  
> I have already posted this on another site (it's still incomplete there too though), but I am rewriting a lot of it, and will be updating it here as I make the edits to each chapter. So stick with this one for the better version.
> 
> My updates here are a little sporadic; lately they seem to be every two months. :(  
> In the interim, if you're interested, you can see what I'm up to on Twitter (@topazrubyqueen) and Instagram (@chocolatefrogsandcauldroncakes), for more writing and Harry Potter content respectively. :)
> 
> Also! _If you read for a bit and decide you're not a fan, I actually don't mind if you tell me in the comments._ I mean, don't bother if you're just going to say something like "hated this", but something like "I thought I'd give this a try, but reading Voldemort's perspective is just not for me (etc.)" or "Your writing is hard to understand/follow" would be totally acceptable. I'm specifically interested to hear these opinions because telling a villain's story can be tricky and I wonder about how people are interpreting it. I'm giving this explicit consent because generally these types of comments are not so welcome, and I want readers to know I'm okay with it. (I may revoke this permission if it turns out I can't handle it--but right now I'm just too curious.)
> 
> A quick note about formatting:  
> A line with only ellipses (...) denotes a break in time, but continuing on the same day, with the same character's perspective. A horizontal line in the story represents a larger time gap and/or a change in point of view.

"He's glanced over at you at least half a dozen times since we sat down to breakfast!" Valeria exclaimed.

"You're seeing what you want to see," Charlotte replied, not looking up from spreading butter on some toast.

"No, if that were the case, I would have seen him looking at me," her friend objected sourly.

She couldn't argue with that. Sighing, she said, "I don't know why you're so intent on pushing us together. You've been saying things like this for weeks—"

"I have not," Valeria interrupted. "I've been saying what a great pair you two would make. But  _today,_  I'm finally able to say he's noticing it himself. And now it's up to you to figure it out as well."

"There's nothing to figure out. Imagination  _is_ your strength, Val."

A satisfied smile crept onto Valeria's face, Charlotte assumed because of her compliment, but then, nodding in the direction of who they were discussing, she said, "Look right now. You'll see for yourself."

Charlotte turned. To her surprise, Tom Riddle  _was_  looking at her, unmistakably. Not the least bit shy, he didn't look away when she saw him, nor did he act embarrassed in any way at all. His gaze was an attentive one that gave the impression he was studying something about her, not so much that he was staring at a girl he found attractive. She supposed her own face mirrored this, because she was a rare case of a girl at Hogwarts, and a Slytherin no less, who was  _not_  claiming to be in love with Tom Riddle. There was, of course, no denying he was handsome—and intelligent, ambitious... and as they carried on looking at each other, Charlotte's belief about her detached expression became a bit more of a hope than a certainty. But she couldn't help feeling foolish whenever she imagined becoming part of the crowd of girls who were hopelessly in love with him—the hopelessness of their dreams was near enough a fact, for while Tom behaved politely and sometimes even charmingly towards them, he never showed any interest in forming a relationship beyond that—and Charlotte was decidedly opposed to wishing, pathetically, to be the lucky one.

A small smile appeared on his lips as he broke their eye contact and calmly began talking with his friends. It took Charlotte a moment longer to realize she was continuing to stare. It was all very... intriguingly unexpected.

Valeria cleared her throat. "Not that I was watching, but, from the brief moment that I did glance over," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "that was intense!"

"He was probably looking over here because he knew you were talking about him." Charlotte shrugged. She still wasn't ready to line up with the rest, so to speak, even if it did seem she might be at the front of the queue.

"Simply talking about him never gets that kind of reaction. Just ask... any girl here." Again, she had a point.

"Oh look the mail's here," said Charlotte, glancing up at the dozens of owls swooping in over the tables with their deliveries. She had reason to expect a parcel. Still looking upwards for her owl, she said, "I don't know how you guessed it. Why me? He could have his pick of any girl, I'm not terribly popular and I don't even like him. Ah, there she is!" Her owl landed next to her on the bench, where there was more room for the large package.

"There are several mysteries there, and why he would like you is the least of them." Charlotte cleared some space on the table to open her mail, while Valeria continued. "I can't answer why you aren't the most popular girl in our year, and you  _know_ I'm _completely_ at a loss concerning what you think you've found not to like about Tom Riddle, but I can tell you, in case you've forgotten, you're practically top of the class, an intriguing foreigner, you come from an influential family, and when I have my line of fashionable witch's clothing, you had better be willing to model it."

Charlotte smiled; Valeria could find a way to praise just about anything if she wanted to, but that didn't mean it wasn't nice to hear her compliments. She was also glad that her friend had chosen to ignore the explanations for all of her 'mysteries', even though she knew the reason for at least one of them. Granted, doing so made for a better statement and so suited Valeria better anyway, but Charlotte appreciated it all the same. It would have brought to mind a time she preferred not to recall if she could help it.

She had had her chance at extreme popularity when she'd first arrived at Hogwarts in the middle of third year. She was more so the "intriguing foreigner" then, and everyone wanted to know everything they could about her. If the school's curiosity about her were to be renewed now, she could easily make them all her friends, if she wanted to, but at that time her state of mind had been so different.

"So what's the package for?"

"My mother just went back to France so of course she had to send gifts, even if it is a time of war."

"She isn't in any danger, is she?" asked Valeria.

"It's a risk for her to go, but her sister still refuses to leave, so once and a while she apparates directly to her house. As far as the muggle war is concerned, it's safe so long as she doesn't run into any soldiers, or anyone who could question her being there. Even without magic, people can still be dangerous. And then there's the Stature of Secrecy." She hesitated for a moment. "But on the continent, one never knows when Grindelwald might be up to something." 'Up to something' was a very light way of putting it, and Charlotte knew that; she was well aware and hated to think about it. Dark magic was more prevalent than ever in Europe, as Grindelwald amassed even more followers, practicing stronger and stronger spells with the intention of raising wizards above muggles.

"Grindelwald…" Valeria repeated breathily, fearfully. "I'm sorry. That sounds difficult to deal with."

"Thanks, Val. It's alright though," Charlotte dismissed her concern. Seriousness and Valeria were infrequent cohorts, and a change in this disposition made Charlotte somewhat uncomfortable, not knowing how to react to the unfamiliar behavior. Still, she was glad of her friend's care for her family. But the topic of Grindelwald was a difficult one, and at this moment she was gladder of the ease with which she could change the subject. Reaching into the box and pulling out a separately wrapped bundle with a note, she said, "Looks like she got some special potions ingredients to give to Professor Slughorn; how thoughtful of her."

"Speaking of Professor Slughorn," Valeria started, "his Christmas party is coming up. I was getting some extra help with potions, you know, in tutoring, which of course you never need, and he mentioned it. He said to be sure to tell you you'll be invited. And you know who  _else_ will be there?"

Tom Riddle would, of course, be invited. But Charlotte answered, "He always invites an interesting assortment of people he knows. I look forward to meeting all of them."

"You won't indulge me, fine. But I have a prediction, and we'll just see if I'm right," Valeria said.

As the two girls carried on with their breakfast, Charlotte sorted through the contents of her parcel and then helped her friend with some last minute homework before their first class, Herbology. It was her favorite subject, so she was more than happy to answer any and all questions regarding it. She'd developed an interest in magical plants from an early age, her mother's profession making it an interesting and accessible topic to her. Some of her best memories were set among the plants in the garden of her French home.

It made the trip down the hill to the greenhouses, through the morning fog, each breath visible in the frigid late-November air, a bit more bearable anyway.

"You would think, as witches and wizards, we would have a way to get down here  _without_  subjecting ourselves to that weather," Valeria said, flinging several chunks of snow off the bottom of her cloak before entering the greenhouse. They stepped inside. "At least I can do something about this dampness." She cast a drying spell to relieve them of the chilly moisture. An interest in pursuing a career in fashion had led her to make it her business to be an expert in all clothing-related, or potentially clothing-related, magic. "There we go," she said with a smile. Charlotte thanked her and they joined their classmates around the long wooden table, which today was covered in piles of seeds. Their task was to sort through and pick out different types, as well as set aside the ones that would be most viable. It wasn't a very good lesson, in Charlotte's opinion. She sometimes thought Professor Beery would be happier devoting all of his time to the extra-curricular theater club he had formed, rather than teaching Herbology.

As she half-absentmindedly organized her seeds, something far more intriguing caught her attention on a shelf on the other side of the greenhouse. Professor Beery had evidently acquired some new plant varieties. When the class ended, she made her way over to investigate, but spent longer examining them than she had intended, for when she thought to go back and gather her belongings, almost all of her classmates had gone. She rushed back to the table to finish packing away her things.

Just as she fastened the closure of her bag and was turning to leave, a voice, and she had a good idea who it was, said, "For a moment, I thought you were going to skip Charms completely and stare at those leaves all day." She was now facing, as she expected, none other than Tom Riddle. Maybe there _was_ something to Valeria's speculations. But at that moment she was distracted by the clay pot she had knocked off the table in her haste as she turned around. It lay in shattered pieces, scattered around her feet. Frowning, she reached for her wand, but Tom was faster. " _Reparo_ ," he said, and with a swift movement of his hand, levitated the pot to its place in a stack with the others.

"Thank you, although I could have done it myself," Charlotte said, walking quickly towards the door in his direction.

"Of course. I'm in your Charms class, I know you could have done it beautifully." She stopped. Now he was paying her compliments?

Partly turning back to face him, she asked, "Do you intend to make it to Charms today? At your leisurely pace, I'm not sure you'll make it." She didn't know why she said it. She could have just said 'thank you' and carried on walking.

But now he was standing next to her, with an amused smile, saying, "You don't mind if I walk with you, do you? We're both taking the same path anyway." When he put it like that, there was really only one answer. But she supposed deciding to ask, and not simply following alongside her, was courteous.

"As long as you don't mind walking quickly," she answered, with a smile she found she couldn't help. "I'd still prefer not to be late if possible."

"As would I." Another exchange of smiles and they were on their way.

Half expecting him to transform into someone else, she kept glancing over at him as they walked. And he probably noticed, but he was probably used to it, because girls were staring at him all the time— And now she was doing it too. She brought her attention away from him and stared determinedly at the ground. At least he hadn't looked back at her. They had already done that once that day, and it was still distracting her.

"This morning," she began, before she realized what she was saying. They did make eye contact then.

She must have been looking at him inquisitively enough for him to understand without any further words, because he said, "All these months we've spent, two Slytherins in the same year, and we hardly ever speak. Anyway, not as often as I'd like." Without her asking anything, he entirely evaded her question, yet somehow answered it at the same time. But his answer surprised her.

"You know—I'm sure you know; I imagine it's your intention, to give the impression that you don't want to talk to most people. I wouldn't have expected to be any exception."

"That's true," he said with a smile, pleased she had recognized that, she supposed, "I've established a group and I don't see much need for any extraneous relationships, acquaintances and— But I'd like to think of you differently. ...I  _would_ like to make you an exception."

"You speak about it as though it were some kind of great privilege." Her sarcastic tone would have been better suited to something... less true. It  _did_ feel like she was getting special treatment. She wished she hadn't said it.

After a long pause, Tom said, "I don't know about that, but... I would consider it a privilege if you would accompany me, as my date, to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party at the end of the term."

"Would you?" was the only immediate reply she could give. It came out hopeful. She found she didn't mind that. Even so, she considered declining just to see how he would take it. Or maybe a conditional agreement? Treating her question as rhetorical, which it was, he was still waiting for her answer.

"I would never hear the end of it if I turned you down, so... yes," she said finally.

"I'll have to thank Valeria sometime," he replied, making Charlotte laugh.

By this time they had reached the castle. Hurrying to get to Charms on time, they didn't speak anymore as they briskly made their way upstairs and through the corridors. They were still late for class.

"Miss Soleil, Mr. Riddle, can you explain yourselves? As a prefect I would think you would want to set an example of punctuality, Mr. Riddle." Professor Runewood said by way of greeting as they entered her class.

Valeria piped up in their defense. "Professor Beery had something to tend to and he headed off as soon as Herbology was finished, asked Riddle, as a prefect, to make sure everything got put back in order after we all left." Charlotte had been so absorbed in studying the new specimens, she hadn't noticed this, if it was even true.

"And then we accidentally broke a pot and had to mend it," Tom added.

" _I_ broke the pot," Charlotte said to him.

"No, if I hadn't startled you, you wouldn't have bumped it," Tom corrected. Charlotte was fairly certain his sudden comment coinciding with the accident was a coincidence, but she let him take the blame since he was being very insistent, and it didn't really matter one way or the other.

"Very well, I see you have a reason at least," the Charms professor interjected. "Have a seat. You two, work together since you're the last to arrive. We don't need to waste anymore class time rearranging partners to be with our friends," she gave a sideways glance in Valeria's direction. The girl feigned an innocently surprised expression, then laughed.

"Oh Professor I'm quite happy to work with Ogden here." She gestured to the student sitting beside her, a fellow Slytherin girl. Valeria looked across the room at Charlotte and winked.

...

" _Charlotte_ , it was  _my_ fault the pot broke in Herbology, I  _won't_  let  _you_ take the blame for it." Valeria raised her voice to its normal pitch and broke into a fit of giggles. Charlotte threw a pillow at her from her bed.

"He didn't say it like that at all," she contradicted, but was laughing too.

"No, no, but the intent was there." Valeria threw the pillow back. "And to think, just this morning—"

Charlotte groaned. "I don't want to hear it." The words were lighthearted, however.

"This is very exciting for me as well, you know.  _Because_ when you wear the dress that I'm going to design for you,"—and she was already sorting through materials—"people will be paying a lot more attention."

"Well I'm glad  _someone_ can benefit from that; I daresay there are certain kinds of attention I'll be getting now that I'd rather not get."

"I'd tell you not to worry, but—" Valeria closed the lid of her second trunk, "caution does seem advisable. You never know what jealousy will make people to do." Then added, with the look of someone about to go into a daydream, "Especially when there's an  _extraordinarily_  handsome boy involved." After a pause, she said, "You have nothing to fear from me, of course, and that was not a fantasy about Tom exactly, but I just realized I don't think I truly expected to be right. I can't believe I was actually right and this is happening! Now with regard to the dress, it's lucky that I had already started collecting some things and planning; I have this amazing—" She finally noticed that Charlotte was sitting there silently, looking a bit troubled.

When Valeria stopped, she said, "I think you're more excited about all this than I am," and laughed weakly, which made thoroughly unsuccessful her attempt to distract from the concern she had been showing.

"Maybe I should have just said not to worry."

"That wouldn't have changed the fact that what you  _did_ say is true," Charlotte answered. "I've already noticed some people are treating me differently, and not in a good way..." Between classes one of her classmates had bumped into her, hard, and given the most unapologetic 'sorry'. And she could imagine plenty of other, worse things—rumours being started, tricks being played...

"I wouldn't expect that to last very long," Valeria reassured her. "People will get tired of it or instead realize that they're simply  _impressed_ by the two of you. Sort of like how people treat Tom himself. And actually, I'd be very surprised if he let people get away with that sort of thing." That was true, but that would mean having to tell him, and that gave her the impression that she would be running to Tom every time someone was rude to her, however often that happened.

"I suppose it's no use worrying about these things that may not even happen," Charlotte said. Valeria nodded. "Why don't you distract me, though? Tell me about the designs you've come up with." She smiled.

"Well, I have this." She unfolded an odd patchwork of furs. "I know, it looks strange, but the finished product won't be all of these at the same time, see. It'll change from one to the next—it's easier if I have real examples of the colors and textures to work with to enchant it. Originally I was going to make this for myself, but I think it'll be better if I make it part of your outfit..."

* * *

"Aha!" Lestrange exclaimed upon seeing Tom come into the room, jumping up from where he lay on his bed. Tom turned around from putting some things away in his trunk to find him leaning against a bedpost, having followed him across the room. Clearly he had something to say. Tom hoped it wouldn't be too... personal. But he had a suspicion he was hoping in vain.

"I wondered what you were up to when you said there was 'something you had to do' after Herbology today." Exactly what he expected. Personal.

"Really? You couldn't guess, Lestrange?" Avery was smirking as he glanced up from taking apart some kind of magical device—Tom couldn't see what exactly, probably dark in nature. "He'd just been ogling Charlotte Soleil before he said it."

"I wasn't— I don't  _ogle_ anyone." Tom cut in icily, but with a calmness. Meanwhile, Lestrange hit Avery with a book. Sometimes they were irritatingly immature.

"Of course you don't. You've always said romance isn't worth your time. And  _that's why_ ," he looked pointedly at Avery, "I didn't suspect anything in Herbology." And sometimes they were reassuringly loyal.

"But then, all through Charms—" Avery added, "with you showing her the wandwork, by  _holding her hand_."

"All through Charms is an exaggeration," Lestrange corrected. Accurately. "But," he shifted his attention to Tom, giving him a knowing look. As if he understood him. "I did see it happen, and there's no other explanation for that really."

Avery was nodding, then he looked at Tom. "You're finally learning what the rest of us already knew. Life's a bit better with a girl to demonstrate good wandwork for."

"I  _don't_  agree," Tom said simply, stepping past Lestrange to get to his own bed. "I still say romance for the sake of itself would be a waste of my time and my energy, but Charlotte is..." He stopped himself saying anything that would sound like the beginnings of a proclamation of love. "She'll be useful to me," he finished. The other two boys were still watching him as he sat down and opened a book. "Yes, I asked her to Professor Slughorn's party and, yes, I plan on spending time with her in the future. But it's much more complicated than... whatever it is you two are talking about."

He thought he'd heard Lestrange groan when he mentioned the party and, glancing up, saw him rummaging in his pocket, then toss some coins at Avery. Tom slammed his book shut and stood up, striding over to them looking indignant. Avery had left what were clearly his winnings from some kind of wager where they landed.

"Obviously Lestrange was just looking for something to throw at me."

"You're pathetic at lying, Avery," Tom spat. And then more slowly, "Don't bother. Least of all, to me." He held out his hand, palm up. "I think I'll be taking that." He tilted his head in the direction of the money. Avery, making no expression of any kind, scooped up the handful of sickles and knuts and dropped them into Tom's hand.

Pocketing the coins, he added, "And, in the future, don't make bets over anything concerning— me." More specifically he meant what could only be referred to as his 'love life', but he couldn't use those words. He might manage 'my relationship with Charlotte' some time in the future, but for now even that phrase made his stomach turn. And yet, as much as the idea of love disgusted him, the reflexive emotional response to it was also detestable. Eliminating that sensation was part of what motivated him now. That alone, however, was not enough to bring about such a change in his actions.

Forging a relationship with Charlotte would be time-consuming and uncomfortable at times, but he had weighed these difficulties against the advantages and determined he would take on the challenge. He would make her love him. As for his own feelings, if anyone were to look into his mind— or, as they would probably call it, his “heart”—expecting to find a love of Charlotte, they would discover nothing more than a will to win her over so she could serve him, and certainly no sign of love.

His affections, false though they were, had to fall on someone worthy—as worthy as anyone  _could_  be. Charlotte Soleil was exactly the right person. If he couldn't manage to pretend to have a romantic interest in her, there was little chance of success on any woman. She was a talented witch, excelling in her classes—he remembered this hadn’t always been the case, but she seemed to have taken control of herself and her studies now; she was wealthy and well-connected, with parents who held prominent positions in the wizarding world. These things were useful to him as well as attractive. These were the reasons for which other people would assume he wanted to be with her. But he had other motives, all of them centered around the ease with which he would be able to manipulate her. She was fairly isolated from her classmates, with only Valeria as a close friend; he suspected she had a troubled past, and plenty of insecurities; further, it seemed she would go to great lengths to avoid an argument or conflict. There could be no one easier to manipulate than a person like that. It made her so temptingly malleable. He anticipated being able to craft her into whatever form would best suit his purpose, convince her of anything, even get her to do things she wouldn’t otherwise consider. Just like all his other “friends”.

They had been sitting in silence for a while, but he had one last thing to say to Avery, "You should be better at deception. Practice on some girl you want to impress or something. Since you think that's so important."

"I should be, yes. I'll do that," he answered stiffly.

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this story didn't have this last scene, and you didn't get to read Tom's point of view until much later. This time around, however, I decided it was pretty important to get a look into his mind earlier on. And I really want to know what people think! Does he seem believable as the character we already know? Even as I make it seem he might be able to love Charlotte (this becomes more apparent later on), my goal is always to maintain his personality.  
> Please feel free to share any thoughts with me, including how I might improve~


	2. An Enviable Position

A week passed with little incident. Valeria continued to partner up with Josephine Ogden in Charms class so that Charlotte would be forced to work with Tom, during which time she realized he was certainly not to be underestimated in his aptitude for magic. They spent time together outside of classes too. It was getting people to talk, even without any prompting from Valeria.

The weather became even colder and snowier as December began. The Slytherin common room, underground, with a huge window directly into the black lake, was particularly chilly in this season. Slytherins would never complain about this, however—not, at least, within earshot of anyone from the other houses, life in the dungeons being a point of ridicule against Slytherin students—but it made seats near the fireplace a highly desired thing. Arguments broke out all too frequently about who could sit there and it usually fell to the prefects to quell these disputes. Charlotte caught the tail end of one as she returned to the common room one evening. As she came through the entrance, she immediately recognized Tom's voice.

"If you can't settle this without disturbing the entire common room...  _all_  of you should find someplace else to sit." He was stern, but fair sounding, and for someone typically so quiet, by her observation soft-spoken even, his tone was surprisingly commanding; he demanded respect. It was no wonder he had been made a prefect. Still standing near the entry, she watched the students go sit elsewhere, on opposite sides of the common room. Tom had been watching them too. Their eyes met and she acknowledged him with a smile, but then carried on to find herself a place to study. "Charlotte," he called, getting her attention again. "There's a seat open by the fireplace." He patted the back of the chair he was next to. Avoiding eye contact with anyone else in the room, she went over to him.

"Careful, people might think you're abusing your power," she said with a hint of teasing as she set her things down on the cushion.

He looked over his shoulder and glanced around the room. Turning back to Charlotte he said, "I don't think anyone minds." He adjusted his posture, elbows now resting on the back of the chair, decreasing the distance between them.

Lessening that separation further, she leaned forward, shifting her weight into her arms and the arm of the chair. She had done it instinctively, but, noticing something behind him, found it conducive to a whispered exchange. Having noticed a group of girls casting scornful looks in her direction, the least subtle of whom was a fourth year by the name of Perdita Pepper, she said, "There does seem to be one young lady who isn't very pleased. But I don't think it has much to do with the chairs." He laughed softly, and the smile stuck as he kept his eyes on her. It occurred to her to mention her fears regarding people like Perdita, and how they might behave towards her so long as she was the nearest thing to a girlfriend he had ever had, but she let the silence carry on. It didn't feel right to interrupt it with something like that. She stared back at him, keenly aware that this was the closest they had ever gotten. Then, abruptly, he straightened up and turned away from her, going over to sit in the other chair.

Now, with nothing blocking her from the view of everyone else in the common room, she quickly moved to sit down as well. Tom had his gaze fixed on the fire, but returned his attention to her as soon as she began talking again. "If someone had told me two weeks ago that I would soon be sitting by the fireplace with Tom Riddle, with you having offered me the remaining coveted armchair, I think I would have told them they were going to fail divination."

He chuckled. "It would seem you and Valeria had better trade classes then."

"If she were to make predictions like that, I'm very glad she isn't taking Divination," said Charlotte, laughing, but feeling embarrassed just thinking about it. "I wonder though," she continued, "which came first? Val always going on about what a good couple we would make, or you having any interest in me?"

He smiled back at her for a moment before answering, "It may not have crossed your mind until Valeria put the idea in your head, but it did mine." Probably for all the reasons Valeria had listed that day he'd asked her to the party. She wasn't used to people acknowledging those things anymore. In fact, she had gotten used to being far from the center of attention. She found she didn't mind that. It let her get on with other, more important things—like her studies. Tom, she realized, was very much the same. He was showing it right then even, having just picked up a book. Although he might not have been reading it, as he kept glancing back up at her.

Something caught his attention behind her. Whatever it was made him look away quickly with a bit of an amused smile, but let out a deep exhale that seemed almost like a sigh. Noticing her watching him, he said, "She was staring again—Perdita."

"That's funny to you?"

"It is a little. The lengths some of these girls have gone. So desperate that you can only laugh at them. And wonder how they're getting their hands on so many love potions."

" _Love potions_?" Charlotte mouthed back in less than a whisper. Tom nodded still looking amused. "But no one ever got you to take one, did they? I think I would have heard about it..."

"If it had happened, I hope no one would have heard about it, but you're probably right and you would have. No, I looked up how to identify them, and generally made it a rule not to eat or drink anything given to me until I'd had the chance to look for that telltale hopeful eagerness in their eyes." He was laughing again. "It would have been more of a problem had they managed to be less  _obvious_  about it. But, fortunately for me, they always gave themselves away."

"You sound a little disappointed in that, actually," Charlotte said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not in the way you mean," Tom answered quickly. She gave him another look that said she didn't fully believe him. "I think it's better to have more control over oneself; you could say their inability to do that disappointed me. Anyway, had I  _wanted_ a love potion off anyone, I would have pretended not to notice, wouldn't I?" She responded with a single nod. It was a very logical explanation. She felt like she should have seen it before. And given what Tom had just said about finding people who lacked certain skills  _disappointing_ —not meeting his expectations—she felt all the more disappointed in herself. She wasn't sure when she'd begun to care about his opinion of her, but evidently she did.

"I've always thought love potions to be a very—how do you English put it?—... _dodgy_ thing to have around. Milder ones are harmless enough, I suppose, but the more powerful ones, it's a lot harder to think of a good use for that."

"I agree with you there."

"The same is true of certain spells, I think," Charlotte continued, thinking aloud. "Some of them, it seems wrong that they exist at all."

Tom looked back at her thoughtfully. "Well someone had to come up with them originally, so obviously they had a use for them. Although, I can see what you mean. I know I wouldn't want anyone casting Obliviate on me, for instance, but the ability to erase someone's memory  _is_  very useful. Muggles might have found out about us ages ago without it."

"Obliviate is a perfect example of that. Along with the rest of the magic related to memory manipulation. But you're absolutely right; it is necessary to have knowledge of that magic. You just have to hope that people don't misuse it."

"You just have to hope that it gets used by the right people."

Just then, Valeria caused a scene in promotion of some new enchanted clothing she had made, distracting everyone. "Is anyone else a bit hot or is it just me?" she asked loudly, prompting a number of confused looks from others around the room; it was by no means hot.

"Whatever you do, don't come near me! You've probably got a fever and I can't get sick now; we've got exams!" someone yelled.

"If that's true you should go to the hospital wing," said someone else.

"Thank you for your concern." Valeria smiled. "But I'm not ill, don't worry. Here," she said, turning to the person nearest to her, "try my robe on. I'll be cold for minute, but—" She was already draping it over the second year girl's shoulders.

"It's warm! Like I'm right by the fire!" she exclaimed, grinning up at Valeria, clearly still enthused by the novelty of magic. She must have been a Muggle-born.

Valeria wore a satisfied smile. "So, who wants me to make one for them?" She pulled out a quill and parchment to take down orders as the crowd formed around her.

Charlotte, happy for her friend's success, turned back to face Tom, whose only comment was, "She tried to give me a love potion once too."

She sighed. "That sadly doesn't surprise me. I'm glad she's gotten over you at least."

"Yes. It would be a bit difficult for you now if she were still... pursuing me," he said.

"If she hadn't given up already, I don't know that this would have happened," she answered, pleased to say that that scenario, which might have put a strain on their friendship, had been unlikely.

"I already told you, Charlotte, I didn't need Valeria to point out that you're the only girl I could have by my side at a party—or, perhaps, in the future, something more lasting than an evening of dancing and socializing..." Was that intended to be a reference to—to  _life_? She thought it certainly couldn't be; that was so serious, and all of this so sudden. Plus, Tom looked a bit uncertain himself, for the first time since they began their—well now she had even less of an idea what to call it. "Have I overwhelmed you?" he asked quietly.

"Since I don't know how to respond, the answer to that would have to be yes," she said slowly. He nodded and looked like he might have been about to give an explanation. "But don't apologize," she added. It felt like the right thing to say, to let him know that he could consider all of that an option, as long as he knew it would take her some time to get used to the idea.

* * *

"Arms out ," directed a creatively engaged Valeria. Charlotte was wearing the beginnings of her dress for the party. The aspiring designer had come up with a winter-inspired enchantment for her friend's dress, so she said. Charlotte had yet to discover what it was. "I'm just fixing this sash on the side here… After this, it'll be time for the charm," Valeria announced.

"Are you going to tell me what your plan for it is now?" Charlotte asked.

"All I'm going to say is that you'll be able to do some studying for Astronomy with it."

"And yours?"

"That, you'll have to wait and see in a week's time." Valeria picked up her wand from the bedside table. "Alright, you'll have to take the dress off now." She never tried to do magic on any clothing while it was being worn, just in case.

They were standing in their dormitory, between beds scattered with various fabrics. The two of them being the only occupants of their room, Valeria put the extra space to plenty of use with her projects. Charlotte had always suspected this had been at least as much of an incentive to make the switch as she herself, the exciting newcomer, had been. And perhaps also part of the reason no one else had volunteered when the school realized, after she had arrived midyear and been sorted into Slytherin, that they would need to reassign some girls to room with her, as all the dormitories that were in use had exactly the right number of students already. Her future best friend had assured her then that most everyone had wanted to room with her, but certain things stopped them from making the switch.

"Are you certain you don't want a snowing shawl?" Valeria asked, referring to a garment she had charmed to drop a gentle snowfall.

"I think one of us leaving a trail of snow on the ground will be enough," she laughed. "And anyway, I've already got the fur stole."

"Of course. The stole is the main accessory; you don't need both. But I must add, the snow disappears after a short while, no puddles or anything, so neither of us will be making snow drifts in the room" Valeria said, turning to fold some of the materials on the bed.

"I should never underestimate your forethought." Now back in her own, everyday clothes, Charlotte was collecting her things for the subjects she needed to work on that day. "I can't wait until exams are over," she sighed.

"Might that be because you are so very much looking forward to attending a certain party with a certain someone?"

"Actually it's exactly what I said; I want the exams over with. And to know how I did." Her face broke into a small smile.  _"And_  I'm looking forward to going to party with Tom." Then her smile turned into an almost cheeky grin as she asked, "Is it  _true_  that you once tried to give him a love potion?"

Valeria froze, the silky charmeuse in her hands slipping to the floor. "He told you that?" She turned her head slowly around to look at Charlotte, her face absolutely red. "I-I was a foolish fourteen year old, and some things happened that I regret."

"Fourteen? That was hardly more than a year ago," Charlotte said with a giggle.

"I'll have you know it was almost two years ago!" Abruptly she buried her face in her hands. "Oh no! Why did you remind me?" Charlotte bent down to retrieve the fallen fabric.

"I couldn't resist," she answered. "He mentioned it yesterday, that you along with some other girls had all tried and failed."

"I'm glad of that honestly," she said, removing her hands from her face, which was now merely pink instead of red. "It was a very shortsighted thing to do. Probably would have been completely embarrassing for everyone involved, not to mention Tom would be livid with whoever did that to him, or at the very least very, very uncomfortable around them afterwards." Charlotte nodded in agreement with that assessment. "So," Valeria continued, her eyebrows raised in a knowing sort of way, "you and Tom have been talking about love potions?" She directed the conversation to one of her favorite subjects, Hogwarts' most promising new couple, a label of which she was the sole user, to Charlotte's relief. "Are the two of you thinking about brewing up some of your own?" Before she could questioningly reply no and ask why they would do that, Valeria, noticing her confused expression, gave a nonchalant shrug and said, "Some couples use them because if you both take it things can get really passionate or something like that. You're less inhibited."

Now it was Charlotte's turn to go red, as she felt an immediate rush of heat to her face. "That doesn't sound like anything I would need to be concerned with right now."

"It was a joke. I'm sorry."

The apology was appreciated. Her imagination had already sent her pulse soaring in its momentary independence from her will, before she got control of her thoughts again. "Anyway, I will refrain from asking you how you know that," she said.

Valeria shot her a displeased look. "My older sister told me."

"Your half-sister? The Muggle?" Charlotte didn't mean to sound as though she didn't believe her, but it was a little far-fetched.

"Love potions work on Muggles too." Valeria shrugged again. "She read about it in some book we have, I guess."

"And told you? That doesn't seem like a topic of conversation one would easily end up on."

"For someone who was so uncomfortable talking about this, you certainly are inquiring after a lot of details." Valeria must have been irritated at how the curiosity came across as skepticism.

"So what are your plans for the day?" Charlotte asked, changing the subject.

"Huh? You've forgotten it's a Hogsmeade weekend!" Valeria cried.

" _Zut_! I did. And I had planned to do some homework today," she replied. "I haven't even started the Muggle Studies essay."

"That's due Monday! I suppose you could probably write it all tomorrow."

"And study for Ancient Runes and Transfiguration?"

"Well, I don't have Ancient Runes with you, but I hear you're a natural. So I doubt you need to study that much."

"Our grades this year are really important! They help us decide our future!" She didn't want to miss Hogsmeade, but her better judgment with regard to her schoolwork had already won out.

"Fine! Fine. It's up to you. Stay here and study. I'll drink a butterbeer for you at The Three Broomsticks." Valeria gave in.


	3. Family History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably silly, seeing as I'm sure I use loads of American terms/phrases/wording throughout this story, but when I'm referring to something that I remember has distinct words in British English vs. American English, I'll use the British one and include the American in brackets.

Valeria and the others having left for Hogsmeade, Charlotte went to the common room to work on her essay, only to find a group of first and second years who, in the absence of most of the older students, were having some kind of wizard trading card bazaar. Knowing she would be unable to focus while listening to cries of "I've got Wendelin the Weird! Who wants to trade for Wendelin the Weird?" and "Merlins! Get your Merlins here! Most famous wizard of all time, folks; everyone needs a Merlin for their collection!", she left for the library instead.

Heading for the section on Muggle-related topics, she ran into Josephine Ogden. As the other Slytherin girl passed by her, she said, "If you're looking for Tom, he's in the back. You'll probably see the massive pile of books before you see him." She laughed quietly.

"Uh, thanks," was all Charlotte was able to say before Josephine carried on out of the library. She had _not_ been looking for Tom, but it occurred to her that he might be able to help with her project. Sitting with him would likely make it less boring at least, so she went to find him. Sure enough, he was back in a corner, poring over a thick volume, other similarly sized books scattered about the table. "May I join you?" she asked.

He closed the book, pushing it aside, and glanced up at her with a smile that looked slightly forced. He must have felt she'd interrupted him, and she felt sorry for doing so, but he nodded to the chair across from him and said, "Please do." As she sat down, he commented, "I'm surprised you aren't in Hogsmeade."

"I forgot all about it and had planned on studying today." she answered. "What about you? Surely you haven't got some assignment due that you put off? Like I have."

"No," he laughed, although there might have been some judgment in it. "I just wasn't interested in going."

She glanced over at the book he had evidently just finished with. The title read _Wizarding Families Compendium IX_. "Unusual choice of reading material…" she said. Then, suddenly realizing what he might be searching for, added excitedly, "Oh! Are you figuring out who your family is?" He never spoke about his family, as far as she knew. It seemed likely that he didn't yet know who they were. She would be very excited for him if he were to find any clue.

"I'm not really interested in that," he said, which surprised her. "I'm studying. For History of Magic—"

"Morgan le Fey's lineage," Charlotte guessed at the same time as he told her.

"No wonder you always get top marks, very astute," he said with a small smile. Somehow a compliment from him felt ten times more rewarding than one from anyone else, and Charlotte thought she felt herself blushing, but if she was, Tom didn't seem to take any notice. Gesturing to the other books of a similar subject on the table, he said, "I picked up some others because I thought they might be interesting, but…" He shook his head.

"You thought reading about miscellaneous wizard lineage would be interesting?" Charlotte laughed a little. It really was true what everyone said about him; it was amazing he wasn't in Ravenclaw.

"There's a bit of history mixed in," he said. "But, as you correctly anticipated, not enough to make it interesting. Which is what I've just learnt."

"I could have told you that," said Charlotte, laughing again. "But then, I've never had much interest even in my own family history, much to the disappointment of my parents. And despite their _significant_ efforts to convince me of its _great importance_."

"As pure-blood families generally do."

It was true, and she was nodding, but... "How did you know I'm a pure-blood?" It wasn't something she went around telling people really.

"When you first came to Hogwarts, Lestrange told us all the two of you were cousins. I don't remember anymore how everything fit together, but I do remember he drew out a fairly elaborate family tree, and I believed him after that."

"I think one of my great-grandmothers was a Lestrange," Charlotte replied. "So I guess that's right."

"She's probably rolling in her grave that you aren't certain about that, telling me her full name and her parents' names and their parents—if she was anything like the rest of the family."

Charlotte laughed because he was laughing, but quietly said, "I'm sure you don't mean literally, but I don't quite understand... Rolling in her grave?"

"It is a strange phrase," he answered, suddenly frowning. "But what I meant is she would be horrified to know—"

"How little attention I've paid to my ancestry, yes." She sighed. "I keep thinking someday it will suddenly become something I want to know more about. But instead I always end up wondering why it should matter." Tom didn't say anything. He didn't look particularly upset, but she wondered if he would prefer not to talk about this. Maybe he only said he didn't care because he'd given up and was trying to accept that his family would always be a mystery to him. At least she hadn't been saying how important her family's history was to her, or describing it as such a fascinating topic. Her viewpoint was perfectly aligned to support him. "It isn't as if it will make any difference. Knowing all that won't change anything about me; it doesn't really impact who I am," she said, hoping he would apply the same perspective to himself if he needed to.

Tom chuckled a little before he said, "In some cases it could."

"In what way?"

"A... Veela relative, for instance." He seemed to have been searching for an example, even though he had first spoken with such conviction.

"Are you saying I seem as if I could have Veela heritage?" she asked, knowing this was not the point he was trying to make, but curious how he would respond.

"Do you want me to tell you I find you irresistible, Charlotte?" He stared into her eyes until she had to look away. He was so direct; it made her heart race.

"A-anyway, I'm not Veela..." Searching for anything to say to change the subject enough for her to recover her composure, she added, "Although I did know a Veela girl, at Beauxbatons..." Then she drifted into saddened silence. She hadn't been thinking when she brought it up. She didn't want to talk about Beauxbatons.

"I'm sorry, for making you recall that," he said, taking notice of her unhappiness.

"You hardly had anything to do with it; it was me who brought it up," she said amiably, making a quick change to her attitude. The problem was, as much as she at first enjoyed reminiscing, it always left her with a feeling of emptiness—the knowledge that the things she missed could not be returned to her any time soon, if ever. She had noticed as time went on that she thought less and less about all of those things, and not because they made her any less sad; she somehow trained herself to avoid bringing them to mind. Most of the time it worked. Tom _was_ the reason she had failed on this occasion, but it wasn't as though she blamed him for it.

Now they sat in silence. Charlotte pulled out some parchment to work on the assignment she had procrastinated. The topic she was to write on was something known as "automobiles", and she had done so little work for the project so far that she didn't even know what that meant. Tom had picked up a book again and was thumbing through the pages. She wished she'd brought up the reason she came to sit with him _before_ it had gotten to the point that she needed to interrupt him a second time.

"I wonder, would you mind—" He laid the book down. "It's just, you've lived in the Muggle world," she began. He hadn't been annoyed until she mentioned that. The relaxed expression changed, his clenched jaw a clear sign that he regarded his time around muggles resentfully. "Oh, um, but if you'd rather not talk about it—" she rushed to smooth things over.

"You have a question about it? An essay to write?" he asked, glancing down at her roll of parchment. He had mostly regained his normal pleasant expression now.

"Yes. Can you tell me anything about au-to-mo-biles?" she inquired, slipping into her French accent as she said the word by syllable, which sounded like "otomobeels".

"Automobiles," he said correctly. "Or cars, they're also called. What do you want to know about them?"

"Well..." Charlotte looked away, uncomfortable and wishing she had done at least a little research before approaching Tom about it. There were even books in her bag she could have consulted first.

"You have no idea what they are." He didn't bother forming it as a question; it was quite obvious. She had expected him to be disappointed, but in fact he sounded vaguely impressed, which she couldn't see any reason for, but was relieved anyway. "They're used for transportation, look a bit like carriages?" He prompted. 

"Oh! I do know— Of course. They move much faster than carriages, more like broomsticks, but they can carry multiple people." She felt less silly now, having shown she wasn't entirely clueless. "What makes it move, since it isn't magic?"

"They have to put something called petrol [gasoline] in it, and if it runs out, it stops. There's something called an engine… You would be better off reading about it than asking me." Although he didn't seem to want to answer her questions, she got the impression it was because the subject was of no interest to him either and not because he didn't want to help her.

"I thought you might have some good insights," she replied. "And when it comes to an already dull subject, talking to a person is a bit more engaging than reading about it in a book, if you have the option."

"Is it?" Tom asked. "I prefer books." Once he said it, Charlotte realized this did not surprise her at all. "That wasn't meant to discourage you from talking to me, of course," he added after they shared a lengthy silence.

She hadn't been concerned with that; in fact, she had finally started to think about what she would write for her essay. "It seemed like a natural end to the conversation," she answered, finally taking out the books she had brought along for her research. As she began skimming through some pages that mentioned cars, Tom was stacking up his books.

"I don't see what the point is if all I'll be doing is rephrasing what's in this book," she commented.

"They assume it means you've learned something," he said. "Although in this case... still no point," she heard him mutter.

"I think you're absolutely right. I'd have dropped the class already if I could."

"Why did you take it?" he asked, with some evident distaste.

"Silly, thirteen-year-old me thought is was a good idea," she declared in a tone that showed her annoyance with her past self, while shrugging at the same time.

"Someone like you wouldn't take an interest in that subject for no reason," he replied.

"No," she agreed. "I had a reason." It felt like a very personal thing to tell him. Hopelessness and a hatred of Grindelwald were not topics she wanted to discuss then anyway. "But it doesn't apply anymore," she said, and thought she noticed a flash of disappointment on his face as she skipped disclosing any further details. "Now most of the time I'm left loathing the class because it's a waste of time to invest so much energy trying to understand things I'll never come in contact with or need to use. And I wish I could take Arithmancy instead." He smiled at this.

"Yes, Arithmancy is fascinating."

This led to a conversation on that subject, which only made Charlotte regret taking Muggle Studies even more. However, afterwards she did make some progress on her assignment. She took an unconventional approach, thinking it worth the risk since she didn't care about the class in the first place. Shortly after their discussion of Arithmancy ended, Tom left her to work on her own, but drew her attention away from her project one last time as he was leaving.

Stopping next to her, he said, "Well, good luck with that," and gently placed his hand on hers. "I hope you don't get too bored."

"Thanks," she said with a soft laugh and a smile, as she looked up from staring at their hands together. She still felt sometimes that she couldn't believe he was acting this way towards her.

"I'm glad we had this chance to talk."

"So am I."

As he walked off, he put his hand on her shoulder, not removing it even as he moved further away. Just as he would have been forced to let go, he stepped back towards her. "Oh, and, I meant to say, I'm really looking forward to Friday. I hope you are as well?"

"I am." More so in this moment than she had been at any other time, as she realized how much she liked his caresses—even if they made it difficult to think about anything else, especially when combined with prolonged eye contact. Which seemed to be happening with increasing frequency. She decided to address this very directly. "Why do you look at me so intensely?" she asked.

"Why do you look at  _me_ so intensely?" He returned her question with a sly smile.

"Because I'm trying to figure out the answer to the question I just asked you." She felt a little triumphant that he hadn't succeeded in tricking her into answering for both of them.

He let go of her and sat down in the chair beside her, which he had just slid out from the table and turned around by magic. This arrangement made it so that he was facing towards her more. "I would think that should be obvious. But, if you want me to spell it out for you: it's because I find you beautiful, and when you look back at me like that, it's hard to look away. You should also know that you impress me, which isn't easy to do."

She laughed a bit nervously. "It really was just a question; I wasn't looking for all that."

"Well that's the answer. I've said it now anyway."

"Yes, and it's a good thing you wished me luck in completing my essay because it'll be a miracle if I can concentrate after this, seeing as you've given my mind a lot of other things I would rather think about."

He laughed. "I'll go now then, so I don't say or do anything else to distract you." He stood up to leave for the second time.

"Do I really impress you?" It wasn't that she was trying to get more compliments—she hadn't even meant to say it aloud—but it had honestly come as such a surprise.

"That's what I said, isn't it? I won't say anything more; I'm not going to let you sabotage yourself further." And with that he left.

As she expected, her thoughts following that were centered around Tom for longer than she would have liked. To overcome that, she recalled her old convictions, her disinclination towards thinking about him in a dreamy, fantasizing way, her aversion to becoming just like every other girl in that regard. She'd called them silly—in her mind, that is; not in front of Valeria. She'd called them fools. They wasted so much time with their fantasy. Disregarding the fact that that judgment had hinged on there being no hope for their attraction to him, which wasn't the case for her, she tried to channel that feeling now. She had something she needed to do, and if she couldn't get Tom out of her head, it wasn't going to happen.

What ended up working was a bit of a different approach; she focused on him more instead. He had told her she impressed him, and she didn't want to become _unimpressive_. He had a high standard—she would have known this even if he hadn't said it—and she didn't want to fall below that. But it wasn't about remaining esteemed in his eyes in particular. It was simply the level of excellence his opinion represented. This was applicable to many things, not simply a single homework assignment. She realized then what an impact this change in her life was having on her, and how much potential for further change it had. She was eager to know what the future would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh so some of Charlotte's thoughts at the end mirror some stuff I wrote for Tom later on and I don't know what this means.
> 
> Originally I was going to use this space to talk about how I didn't care for this chapter, but I think I worked it out, so that's good. Let me know your thoughts though!


	4. Coldness and Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling less satisfied with Chapter 3 now because I realize I could have put a lot more effort into Tom's part in it, by figuring out what specifically he was thinking and feeling at each moment. It's especially important in that chapter because he has just realized he is a descendant of Slytherin. That's a big deal for him, to say the least. He is not in a calm mental state as he is speaking with Charlotte. But I didn't show that at all. He is good at disguising his feelings, but maybe not that good.  
> Because his reaction to this major discovery is extremely important (and interesting), in my opinion, I decided to open this chapter with his perspective directly following that interaction. The feelings that he expresses here probably do not match up well with what he exhibits in chapter 3, which is something I'd like to fix. I might go back and make some changes so that it is a stronger scene. But for now it can stay because it's not a priority—working on the rest of the chapters is.  
> A lot of Tom's POV in here; I hope you, uh, enjoy it?

As he left her in the library, it took a minute for Tom to disentangle Charlotte from his thoughts and to go back to what had been on his mind before she showed up. It was the first time she had chosen, without any prompting from him, for them to spend time together. Her timing had been terrible, but he was pleased he seemed to be making progress. While she was with him, he had done his best to shut out all other thoughts about what he had just discovered, so that he wouldn't risk giving anything away. He hadn't done a perfect job, but still had to congratulate himself for dealing with her so calmly.

The first feeling to return was the sense of triumph, for having at last solved the mystery of who his wizarding family was, and more than that, the fact that this tied him to Salazar Slytherin himself. All his life, he had held the conviction that there was something special about him. This feeling had not been diminished the day he had learned of magic—these other wizards were not his equals—and it wasn't only his grades and aptitude for magic that set him apart. There was something more. He hadn't guessed that this had anything to do with Slytherin specifically, although now that he saw all the pieces it seemed obvious. It was, after all, his ability to speak to snakes that truly proved to him who he was. As Dumbledore had told him when he confided this—the memory of this always made him grimace as he wished he had not shared such a secret with this man, who had never been as easily fooled by his politeness and charm—the ability was unusual, but not unheard of. Naturally, Slytherin himself being a Parselmouth, as Tom had learned it was called, those other cases were his descendants.

He was reminded of that day, when he had been told he was a wizard. This felt similar. Only it was so much greater; it gave him even more power, meant he had a place in the world that was—not beyond what he had imagined for himself, but exactly what he had always known to be true.

He realized with growing excitement that the so-called Chamber of Secrets, allegedly built by Slytherin, now was his to find and use. If there was any truth to this legend, he was certain he would be able to discover it. And the monster, said to be kept within the Chamber—he would be its master. He could hardly wait to begin his search for these instruments of his newfound power. Going to Slughorn's party seemed like a ridiculous thing to do. Which made Charlotte ridiculous too. Even his upcoming exams lost their importance. But he would act as if nothing had changed, carrying on with those mundane activities all through the week. And then, as soon as the majority of the other students had left the school, he would find everything Slytherin had left for him.

* * *

Charlotte made it back to the dormitory before Valeria returned from Hogsmeade. She was laying on her bed surrounded by Transfiguration books and rolls of parchment she had drawn various diagrams on when her friend got back.

"I have a confession to make," she said very seriously as she pulled her gloves off and folded them up neatly to be put away. "I'm sorry, but I didn't get a butterbeer on your behalf at The Three Broomsticks." She cracked a smile. Charlotte laughed.

"And why not?" she asked, feigning disapproval.

"Well I opened the door, took a step inside, decided I didn't want to stand to drink it, and walked right back out. I will admit I braved the crowds in Honeydukes so that I could stock up on sugar quills and toothflossing stringmints, but those are  _essentials."_  She laughed. "Oh and I got some cauldron cakes. Do you want one?"

"Yes please!" Charlotte accepted. "So what did you do the rest of the time? Hang around Gladrags Wizardwear?"

"No, I fancied a visit to the Hog's Head to pet the goats," Valeria answered sarcastically, tossing over the cauldron cake. Then giving her real answer, "I chatted with the shopkeeper, you know, Lorelei, until some pesky third-years came in—I could tell they were third-years because they were gawking over everything like they'd never been there before—wanting to try on a bunch of things, but they didn't spend a sickle, the little trolls. Anyway, how was your day? Are you an Ancient Runes expert now?"

"I didn't study Ancient Runes yet."

"Well you finished the essay, right?"

"I worked on it." She had in fact managed to write up a draft of her paper, but she wasn't sure she could turn it in as it was.

"Hm. I guess it is a good thing you stayed back from Hogsmeade today…"

"I talked to Tom for a while. He was here too." It was one of the first times she had brought him up herself.

"Oh! If that was your intention all along you could have just said so," Valeria laughed.

"I didn't know he was going to be there," Charlotte said. "And I only sat with him because I thought he might be able to help me with my Muggle Studies assignment."

"It's things like that that really make me believe you when you say you're not that interested in him. You know why? Because if you paid any attention, you would know that he practically never talks about Muggle things," answered Valeria. It was true. Whereas most of the students who had been fully immersed in the Muggle world before coming to Hogwarts, and still passed their summers there, spent a great deal of time discussing and explaining it to the students who only knew of the wizarding world, Tom kept his experiences to himself.

She hadn't had any reason to make this observation in the past, but now she certainly knew it to be accurate. "He made no exception for me. Although he was more than happy to talk about Arithmancy."

"Arithmancy?" Valeria shook her head, not understanding how that could be enjoyable to anyone. "You two are made for each other."

"That's quite a leap from one common interest," she answered. However, even as she spoke of realism, she realized she was thinking of something quite different. She was beginning to believe in Valeria's imaginings more and more. With all of Tom's actions seeming to prove them right, what reason did she have not to?

* * *

The trouble was he had to see her  _every single day._ It was tedious. He didn't understand how people put up with it. One minute he was deep in thought, and the next, he was forced to tell Charlotte he didn't mind at all that she had disturbed him. Which was a lie, always.

Worse, sometimes it was Valeria who approached him.

Earlier that day, in between exams, he had been doing some last minute studying, sitting alone at a table in the library, when he heard a somewhat high-pitched, forced cough, which was followed by Valeria sliding a partly unrolled piece of parchment towards him.

"I don't know if you're thinking of getting a Christmas present for Charlotte, or if you've already figured something out, but I thought I would offer a suggestion, if you want it." He didn't answer, but looked at the drawing she had handed him. "It's a design for a necklace to go with her gown," she said. "I had planned on making it myself, but I thought I could give you the concept and the materials so you could do it. Then it would be your gift."

"It's not the kind of magic I usually do..." Using magic in this way did not appeal to him at all. It was a frivolous waste of their power. Valeria's entire life centered around that kind of thing; it was part of the reason he detested her so.

"Well I'm not going to force you, but I know it would be a good present. Still, just a suggestion."

It wasn't such a terrible idea that he would refuse to take part. "Thank you, Valeria," he replied, although he didn't bother smiling at her. "Did you bring what I'll need to make it?"

"No, but I'll see you in the common room after our exams and give it to you then."

He shook his head. "I'll be with Charlotte. Give it to Avery instead. He'll make sure I get it." She slowly gave a single nod in agreement. Seeing her so uncomfortable made him able to smile. He used the opportunity to appear genuine about something she would expect him to smile about. "I'm eager to see Charlotte in whatever you've made for her to wear. She'll be beautiful, I'm sure." Adding a comment about her beauty was unplanned. As was hastily correcting himself, "That is, she's already beautiful, but she'll be... more elegant." He didn't try to hide his discomfort—Valeria would think it was simple embarrassment—but he looked away as his frown grew more pronounced. "You can go now," he growled.

Now it was approaching the time at which he had agreed to meet with Charlotte.

On their way to the Ancient Runes classroom that morning—there wasn't much he could do to avoid her at times like that when they both took so many of the same classes—she had pointed out that they wouldn't see each other for two weeks. This was something  _he_  was glad of, and  _she,_  evidently, was disappointed by. He'd charmed her a bit too well, it seemed. He'd hoped that the chance to talk while walking to and from those classes would be enough to satisfy her, not that they would create the opportunity to make further plans. He wished she had remained more aloof, as she had been at first, but he knew it was his own fault that she had developed stronger feeling for him, as he had found it more enjoyable than he had expected to toy with her emotions.

She'd suggested they use some of the free time they had later that day to see more of each other—that had not been her wording, but its vaguely suggestive tone was more appealing to him than the prospect of enduring conversation. Not that he had any intention of following through on something like that; they would be taking a walk, down to the boathouse and back—something with a limited time frame, as per his own recommendation.

He met her by the door, where they exchanged greetings before heading outside. The early sunset of winter meant it was already dark, but any other time of year it would barely be considered evening at that time. Any staff who confronted them about being out so "late" would be told this, and he was confident there would be no detention in their future.

"It's nice that our schedule today isn't entirely taken up by exams," Charlotte said.

"I would imagine they planned for us to use the time to study."

"I don't think they expect us to spend all of our spare time studying."

"And here I was thinking I would have you quiz me on dates from History of Magic," he replied, jokingly—although if she took the idea seriously he would not be opposed to it. She only laughed. After walking for a short time in silence, he noticed her pulling her cloak around her more tightly. "Cold?" he asked.

"Just a bit."

"I thought Valeria had solved that problem, or didn't she give you one of her latest creations?"

"Well after those third years accidentally set their robes on fire trying to duplicate the effects, Professor Slughorn suggested she not market those for now."

"You're serious?" He couldn't help laughing at the idea. "How did I not know about that...?"

"I don't know; it happened in the middle of the common room. You were probably in the library, since you practically live there." She smirked. And there was something about her tone.

He stepped into her path, facing her. "Are you teasing me, Charlotte?" Ordinarily, someone speaking to him like that would be cause for anger. But his feeling of success at having changed her attitude towards him so quickly won out over the annoyance and he was able to smile at her.

"I suppose I am," she said softly. There was no need to be very loud, as they were only inches apart.

"And what makes you think you can do that?"

"I didn't think there was a rule against it. But, if you insist on an answer, probably the same reason you didn't hesitate to put your hands on my waist just now." One side of her mouth curled up into another rendition of that smirk. Her eyes were saying a lot of things he didn't quite understand. Maybe because he was in such foreign territory, or maybe because he was distracted by how close her face was to his. Her lips in particular were drawing his attention.

He pulled her into a hug so that he wouldn't have to look at her anymore. "You won't be as cold now," he mumbled as an afterthought. He had been tempted to kiss her, but he didn't understand why he was having impulses like that. It was so beyond anything he was used to. It made pretending to love her easier, that was certain, but he wasn't exactly thrilled that somehow he was beginning to exhibit signs of loving her for real. The tumult of mixed emotions settled somewhat as he realized holding her still felt unnatural and uncomfortable to him. He held her tightly all the same, focusing not on the idea of wanting to be closer to her, but on how it made him feel in control.

She hadn't immediately wrapped her arms around him, having been, he assumed, caught off guard by his sudden embrace. When she did, he found that, once again counter to expectation, there was something about her touch he liked. "I startled you, didn't I? I'm sorry," he said with a mostly blank facial expression. There was another advantage to this position in that she couldn't see him.

She murmured back, "'s'alright," not even forming the complete words. He didn't want to let go of her until he had a clear idea of what he was going to do next, but she started to pull away first; he almost tightened his hold to stop her, but couldn't face the irony in that. "So." She began, looking at him again. "I think you have deeper feelings for me than you're willing to admit."

"Is that right?" he managed to say. These were not words he wanted to hear, and definitely not ones he wanted to be true. It would feel like some kind of twisted nightmare coming to life.

"You make it clear with your actions, and sometimes the things you say—what I mean is, you don't just want to go to a party with me and then barely speak to me again after that, do you?" Speaking confidently, she asked the question as one does when one already knows the answer. She was looking for commitment from him. Quickly weighing the options, he determined agreeing with her and then backing out later if he needed to would be easier than the reverse.

"I make it a point not to listen to gossip, but I know what people have been saying about us. I'm sure you do too... And it seems like they're right, only we haven't said to each other that that's what this is, yet. That's what you're getting at, isn't it?"

"That's a very roundabout way of putting it, but yes." He  _was_  usually much more direct.

They'd been standing still too long and he wanted to put his hands on her again. So he did. "Charlotte darling," he began, as if he might be about to tell her how much she meant to him, and how happy he would be to call her his girlfriend, which was probably what she had been expecting to hear already; ' _darling'_  was all she'd be getting, and hopefully that would please her enough. "Come on," he said, his arm now around her, guiding her to move forward. "It's only going to get colder the longer we're out here."

He hadn't anticipated they would spend very long at the boathouse before walking back, but he got the impression Charlotte felt very at ease there. She lit a torch inside, already knowing exactly where to look for it.

"There's no way you could have known, but… I've always liked this place," she said, proving him correct. Although it was true he hadn't had any idea this location had special significance to her, she underestimated his ability to find things out and make use of information, which was what he intended to do then if he could. Looking around nostalgically, she said, "I used to come here a lot. I find it relaxing—the sound of the water, even the boats knocking against each other."

"You said used to? Not anymore?" A sense that she was in a mood to share made him prompt her to speak more.

"It was mainly when I first came to Hogwarts, to England. I used to need to get away from people more then." She had taken a seat leaning against the wall.

"Those people who thought it amusing to make fun of your culture, I imagine." He joined her on the floor, but chose to sit across from her.

"They're the reason I worked so hard to erase my accent. My father had me studying English from an early age, and so I could speak without it being too strong—you might remember—but it was just enough for them to poke fun at. It's silly really, that I let them bother me so much when there were just as many people who were friendly and curious about me," she said. "But it wasn't only that. You could have said just about anything to me and it would have upset me then. And anything that reminded me of home was painful, so that included well-meaning questions as well as the jokes."

Tom couldn't imagine having so little self-confidence that the childish ridicule of a few people could create such a pathetic state. "It's good you overcame that," he said, to offer some sympathy. "Although, I can tell you still miss France."

She nodded. "It's gotten easier because I feel a bit more at home here now than I used to. But the trouble then was it wasn't simply missing France that was difficult for me." She paused and he waited, knowing she was going to tell him more. "You were wondering the other day why I took Muggle Studies? I was convinced we were essentially going to have to go into hiding, blend in with Muggle society. In which case, it would be completely necessary to know about their world." She had laughed as though she found this ludicrous now, but it sounded forced.

"That would be a wise preparation," he answered, "if that were to happen. Although, the prevalent fear was—is—that, through some action of Grindelwald's, the wizarding world will be exposed. You think that would result in all of us trying to pretend we don't exist?" The question could have sounded critical, adversarial, but he used a soft, calm voice so she would feel he only wanted to understand better.

"We're talking about my past self, not what I currently believe, remember," she corrected. At least she seemed to be aware how foolish those thoughts had been and was making an effort to be different now. He wasn't sure why this mattered to him, but he felt it did. "It's partly the fact that Grindelwald was involved in that that made me see things that way," Charlotte continued. "If it was his plan that we would all get to use magic openly, I didn't want anything to do with it. I still feel that way, a little, although now I think I can be more rational about it." There was certainly more to this than she was telling him now, but that was fine; he could wait until the time was right for her to divulge the whole truth. Seeming to realize this explanation wasn't making much sense, she quietly asked, "Have you ever lost one thing, and then another, and then another, one thing after the next until you start to believe  _everything_  is going to be taken away from you?"

"I started out in life having lost a lot of things..." He said it because he knew how it would make her feel. Pity was an emotion he hated to see directed at himself, but it was very effective for manipulating someone's feeling for you. He tried to make use of it as little as possible. But Charlotte made the most sense to make an exception for.

"I-I'm sorry," she said, her expression as apologetic as her tone. "Me, talking about all the things I've suffered as if I'm the only person who's ever had problems."

"I don't think you meant it like that," he replied gently, standing up to move next to her instead. "As for me, I don't think about all that very much. It isn't really part of who I am. I only brought it up because it's the most similar experience I've had, and that's what you asked." He smiled at her. "Anyway, I think it's good for you to talk about this, and I don't mind listening."

"It probably sounds like I'm being dramatic."

"Not in any way that's unwarranted. It's not an easy thing, having to leave everything you know."

"Exactly. First my parents took me out of school, so I lost that, and my friends; then we moved here and I lost my home. ...Magic itself seemed like the next likely thing to go." She was plainly relieved that he appeared to be empathizing and understanding her.

"It seems less so like you were fearful of  _everyone_ having to hide their magic and more that you personally would lose the ability," he conjectured.

"It was both. I was  _very_  aware of that as a possibility, and that didn't help." He'd come up against a wall again, but he was getting bored of this for now anyway.

"Do you want to head back now?" he asked.

"We should, shouldn't we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the "boathouse". By that I mean that little place on the water, most noteworthy for being where Snape is killed in the movie—and not in the book, because it doesn't exist in the book... It somehow feels less accurate to reference the movie version of things, but it's also a lot easier because there are visual references accessible. And anyway, I had already started writing, and was too attached to this scene, by the time I realized this. Seriously, I thought I was done with this chapter, finally, and then was like "wait, here's an idea" and ended up adding another 1000 words yesterday. That's that scene, haha. It allowed me to work in several important pieces I had set aside to bring up at some point, so it definitely worked out for the best though.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter~


	5. A Peppering of Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved the last scene from the previous chapter to combine with how I had originally intended to open this one, sorry for the slight repeat content. I'll try not to do that in future.  
> Other than that, everything in this chapter is new content, compared to my first draft; that's why it took a bit longer. I'm really pleased with how it worked out! Especially the middle scene. There are so many lies, from Tom of course, in there, but also some partial truths. I had a lot of fun writing it.

Not far from the common room entrance, Avery and Valeria were scowling at each other, clearly in the midst of an argument.

"Because I don't like you, Avery, that's why. I  _dislike you_. And I know you don't like me. So whatever this is really about, I'll not be caught up in it."

"Everyone thought Tom Riddle didn't like anyone, but now look what's happened with Charlotte. People can change." Tom shifted uncomfortably at the mention of himself.

"I'm going to talk to him, right now," he said angrily.

Charlotte held out an arm to stop him as he crossed in front of her. "Don't, yet. Wait for them to resolve things."

Valeria was shaking her head. "No. No, a person doesn't just, overnight, become someone who doesn't care about another's Muggle parent, when previously they were obsessed with being pure-blood themselves."

"Fine. Go by yourself. But when you're standing around, all alone, you'd better not so much as look in my direction. I won't offer again."

"I'd rather be alone than spend the evening on your arm," Valeria laughed.

"Ah, if it isn't the famous lovebirds themselves!" exclaimed Avery, noticing them at last.

The hint of taunting in his voice angered Tom further; Charlotte felt she could sense the resentment radiating out from him. Stepping past him, she marched over to Avery. "I'll thank you to leave us out of your personal argument."

"You ought to get used to people talking about you."

"There's no reason for  _you_ to be one of those people." Tom joined her. The two boys held each other's stare. Charlotte, meanwhile, made eye contact with Valeria, who smiled, weakly for her, and gave a little shrug. She glanced around at the others in the common room; most were attempting to not look interested, holding books and newspapers and things in front of them, but clearly watching.

"Let's... just pretend this didn't happen," she said, looking from Avery to Tom.

"We can do that." Tom then added, ominously, "For now." Charlotte was just glad that the spotlight on them seemed to be dimming. He let Avery go by and leave the common room.

They would all be heading to dinner soon, so Charlotte turned to Tom and said, "After this, in the Great Hall— Not that I wouldn't like to sit with you, but I think it's best if I join Valeria. She doesn't really have any other close friends to eat with and we can't all sit together, for obvious reasons."

Tom nodded. "I was thinking the same. Do that." She smiled at him, but he didn't smile back.

"Hey." She put her hand on his arm. "He probably only spoke like that because he was upset by what Val said. Don't take it personally." He still hadn't smiled.

"Don't worry about my feelings, Charlotte," he answered, taking her hand, pushing it away from him, and walking away all in one motion. She was left standing there feeling confused.

"Well that was embarrassing for everyone involved," said Valeria, coming over to her. "Are you alright though? Things seemed a little tense between you and Tom."

This was true, but she had decided it probably wasn't something to worry about. "He was perfectly charming the rest of the time. I don't think it has anything to do with me," she answered.

"Oh good." Valeria sounded remarkably relieved at this. "Otherwise all of that," she waved a hand towards where the argument had happened, "would have been for nothing." That explained her very invested interest; she was planning something. "But it's a surprise and I won't answer any more questions about it," she added, as if reading her mind, stoically staring back at Charlotte, who had begun to smile. Knowing that Valeria didn't get along with Avery, or any of Tom's friends for that matter, she was moved that her friend had put herself in that situation for the sake of some surprise for her.

"Can I ask about what happened with Avery at least?" she asked.

"You saw most of 'what happened with Avery'. He asked me to the party, I turned him down, he didn't take it well. As for why he asked me in the first place, your guess is as good as mine."

"Maybe a little better," she corrected. "That is, I could make a better guess if I talked to Tom about it. They're friends, he probably knows something."

"If I had asked Avery and he had turned me down, and then Tom came to you looking for details on why, would you tell him?" Valeria looked at her skeptically.

In all honestly, she couldn't answer 'no' with certainty; however, going along with Valeria, she replied, "I see your point, you think he'll keep what he knows to himself." It was, admittedly, very probable. "But it's likely to come up in conversation between us. If I happen to find anything out—"

"No, really, I don't want to know. I  _do_ , however, want to hear more about all the  _perfectly charming_ things that Tom did."

* * *

The Great Hall seemed noisier than usual at breakfast. Charlotte thought her classmates surprisingly boisterous for being in the midst of exams. But most of them were more focused on the upcoming holiday than they were their remaining schoolwork.

And then there was Tom, taking things so seriously, spending every spare minute he could with a book. She wouldn't have been surprised to find one propped up in front of his goblet of pumpkin juice—it wouldn't be the first time—but he was sitting with his back to her, so she couldn't tell. They hadn't spoken since they had encountered Avery and Valeria having their argument the previous day. The way he had reacted to her trying to comfort him had somehow dulled the eagerness to be around him that she had started to feel regularly, even though she told herself it wasn't her fault.

Valeria was seated further down the table from him, so she passed by to join her friend. A moment later she heard her name. He came towards her as she turned around. "Charlotte," he said again, then quietly continued, "I'm sure Valeria will survive one meal without your company." If she were to pick a favorite expression of his, it would be the one he wore right now: the subtly amused smile that she loved without knowing why.

As he summoned his things to where they had seated themselves, distanced from his group, Tom said, "I'm sorry about yesterday. You were only trying to help. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

She smiled. It was a relief to get that out of the way. "Thank you for saying so. I understand. It wasn't about me, it was about Avery really, wasn't it?" He nodded. Valeria, for whatever reason, might not care to know what had been going through that boy's mind the previous day, but Charlotte would find out if she could. "Do you know  _why_ he did that? It seems very strange. All of a sudden?" Tom shrugged.

She raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a look to prompt him to explain how he could simply not know. "Charlotte—" he said, "excluding Muggle Studies, I've taken on every class that I can; I don't have _time_  to think about anything else." He took a sip out of his goblet and then added calmly, "Except, of course, you." He brought his eyes up to meet hers just as steadily.

She grinned and, with a laugh, said, "Two things you won't have anymore next week, and the week after." He looked away, but was smiling. "You won't know what to do with yourself," she teased. "Maybe I should stay at Hogwarts instead of going home."

"If you think I've read every book in the library, I'm flattered, but you'd be wrong." He laughed softly. "I'm sure I can find ways to pass the time. As for you, there's that gala you told me about. The one your parents  _insist_ you be present at. So, as much as the idea of a mostly empty castle, and both of us being here, might be appealing, you have prior obligations."

She had had no real intention of changing her plans, and yet was tempted to now. Tempted, but knowing full well it would only end badly, most likely with one or the other of her parents showing up at the school, meaning they would meet Tom, and— She cut off that train of thought and answered, "Well, I just hope you don't have to resort to reading the Muggle Studies section."

"I could live forever and never let boredom make me  _that_  desperate."

As she was laughing with him, she laid her hand on his between them on the bench. He continued to smile until something behind her made it fade to a blank expression. She didn't fully notice until he abruptly turned his attention away from whatever it was, looking uncomfortable. She turned to see for herself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. In his line of sight, a section of the staff table where Professor Slughorn was sitting; their divination teacher, Professor Ambrose, next to him, having a conversation with Professor Dumbledore. "What was it?" she asked.

He blinked his discomfort away. "Just a teacher, disapproving of this," he glanced down at their entwined fingers. "And I do need the use of my hand back anyway," he said, sliding his arm away from hers.

"Speaking of not being able to use your hand..." She had just seen Avery across the table a little ways down and she leaned forward to get a better look at the injury he evidently was unwilling to get treated.

Tom was searching for something amongst his things. "Oh. Avery." He began to reply before he looked up. "He foolishly slammed his fist into a wall after the incident with Valeria. Now he won't go to the hospital wing because he doesn't want to explain how it happened. Which I can't say I blame him for; it was a stupid thing to do."

"I might be able to help," Charlotte offered. "I studied some healing magic this past summer. I know—" she added quickly, "The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery says that I shouldn't practice magic outside of school, but—"

He cut her off. "You're above the law, are you?" Hardly sardonic, he instead sounded pleased by this.

"My parents seem to think so." Her mother had concluded that no one at the Ministry would be the wiser because the Trace wasn't fine-tuned enough to tell who exactly was casting the magic. Her father conceded, saying it was fine as long as her practice only happened under their supervision. Occasionally, however, they neglected this stipulation.

"And so the truth comes out. Your skill is the product of illicit training." She smiled, amused, as he pretended to care about the legality. "I'll admit, I'm envious. Because you live with others who do magic, you can get away with it."

She tried to give him less reason for envy, or regret. "It sounds exciting, but really it's me, in my attic, casting the same spells over and over again, with someone watching me. Most of the time."

This didn't seem to have any impact on him. Instead he asked, "Learnt anything they don't teach us here? Aside from the healing spells."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I'm not sure what's on the N.E.W.T. level curriculum and what's not." He looked disappointed, just a bit, but she didn't think that listing out all the spells was likely to have made him any happier. Glancing at Avery again, she started to stand while saying, "I'm going to ask if he wants me to try—" Tom took her by the arm and pulled her into her seat again.

"I appreciate the offer, on his behalf, but I don't think it would be accepted."

"He'd rather deal with it the way it is?" she asked.

"Trust me, it would cause a scene. I know how you don't like that," he said gently. "Anyway, it isn't as bad as it looks. And it's already better than it was. How do you think I know he'll only reject your help?"

"Ah." She nodded in understanding, but said nothing more, unable to help feeling a little irritated that he too could use healing magic. Usually she was impressed by his talent, but she liked the idea of having at least  _one_  skill he didn't.

At this point, Charlotte finally got around to eating something, and they stayed silent until Tom asked, "What ever happened with that Muggle Studies essay you were working on?"

"Well, the style I wrote it in ended up being more narrative than an essay has any business being—but it was just so boring, fact after fact; I think I did both myself and Professor White a favor by bending the rules slightly."

He chuckled. "I'm starting to think you don't listen to any rules at all."

She didn't think of herself as a rule-breaker. But he was right in that she had mentioned it twice just in this conversation. Acting more rebellious than she felt—he seemed to like it—she leaned towards him and lightly poked at his prefect badge as she asked, "You won't tell, will you?"

"Your secret is quite safe with me."

* * *

The following day, after leisurely taking her time with breakfast—she had her entire morning free, without any exam until after lunch—she found out what her Muggle Studies professor had thought of the essay. As she left the Great Hall, Professor White approached her. "Miss Soleil. I wanted to be certain you got this." She held out a tightly rolled parchment, which Charlotte took from her uneasily.

"It's my essay, isn't it? Do I have to rewrite it?"

"All my notes are there." And with that she walked away. Charlotte wasn't about to unfurl her probably failed essay in the middle of the hallway, so she made her way back to the common room. Finding Tom there, she crossed the room to join him on the sofa.

Had it been an assignment in any other subject that she anticipated getting low marks on, Tom would have been the last person she would want to find out. But, seeing as it was Muggle Studies, he wasn't likely to care if she failed. She herself cared a bit more than she thought she would, but he could probably talk her out of that mindset. Fully prepared for a conversation about the uselessness of that subject, and how relieved she would be not to have to take it any longer, she greeted Tom as she sat down and untied the scroll.

He watched her reaction of surprise and confusion as she looked over the comments. "Professor White liked my essay." She turned to him and added disbelievingly, " _Loved_ my essay. I almost feel bad for having to tell her I won't be continuing the class next year. I really didn't expect this kind of reaction at all..." She trailed off into silence as she read the praise at the top again. Tom had scooted over next to her and was looking over her shoulder, reading along too.

"Looks like your attitude about 'the rules' served you well," he said.

"It would seem so..."

"Sorry to interrupt—" it was Valeria "—but I need to borrow Charlotte for a minute, to try on her dress one last time before tomorrow.  _If_ now is a good time?" She glanced between the two of them with a pleased smile.

"That's alright," Charlotte answered. Then, before standing up, she looked at Tom and asked, half-jokingly, "Do you want to read it?" She tilted her head towards the paper.

He took hold of the other side as she let go of it. "Only because you wrote it." She smiled.

"You got yours back too?" Charlotte asked, standing facing Valeria. She recognized the purple satin ribbon around it from when Valeria had turned it in. "Did she mysteriously refuse to tell you how you did when she gave it to you?"

"No, she didn't even give it to me in person. But I already knew I did well. I got to write about fashion and clothing; how  _could_  I do poorly?"

"I thought you told me the topics were randomly assigned," Tom said to Charlotte.

"They were," Valeria answered for her. "I got electricity to start with. But once I figured out that no one had been given Muggle clothing, I asked Professor White to let me write on that instead. She didn't think it was important enough, but I convinced her by pointing out how grossly ill-informed the wizarding world is about Muggle style. I think in the future I might like to make a point of educating people on how to dress when they're in the Muggle world. Did you know," she started suddenly, "there was this witch, somewhere in Europe, who was so secluded that she hardly ever saw Muggles, until, for some reason or another, she needed to go into one of their towns. To figure out how to dress, all she had to go on were some photos she had—which she knew were Muggles because they didn't move—but her source for them was some lost packet of soldier's things, so you can imagine what articles of clothing were featured there." She made a face.

"Military uniforms...?" Charlotte said, confused. That certainly would be problematic, but she didn't understand Valeria's reaction.

"No. They were of women," she prompted.

"That must have ended in embarrassment," Tom said, " _if_ it actually happened. It sounds made up."

"Well you can't  _disprove_ it, can you?"

"I don't care enough to spend the time on it," he answered dryly.

Charlotte interjected, "I'll be back in a bit then, Tom." She gave Valeria a small push in the direction of the girls' dormitory.

"Take as long as you need." He had already turned his attention back to her essay. She smiled and left with Valeria.


	6. Revolt of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm back with an entire chapter from Tom's perspective! It's part one of the Christmas party, which I originally planned on making one chapter. Hopefully when I've finished the second part, from Charlotte's perspective, it will still seem like a good choice to have divided it, haha. I just really wanted to add to this again, as it's been a little while.  
> Also! I saw Crimes of Grindelwald and it has given me new ideas I'm very excited about incorporating (no spoilers here, don't worry). Although none of that appears in this chapter, that movie was partly what motivated me to return to this and work on it again at this time.

Lestrange had just left with Walburga Black and Tom was now waiting alone, as he preferred. He sat on a sofa, looking out over the common room, observing. Every person in that room, and in all of Hogwarts, had the potential to be either an ally or an enemy to him in the future; whether they knew it or not, they would take a side. Knowing as much as he could about as many people as he could would serve him well. So that  _they_ could serve  _him_. But as he tried to focus his mind on taking in new information about his classmates, he found himself distracted by thoughts of the party.

Rather than the concerns of other boys in this scenario—things like worrying over stepping on their partner's feet while dancing, saying something foolish, or wondering how successfully things would go if they ended up underneath the mistletoe—he was feeling averse to attending because he expected to be bored, irritated, or, most likely, both at once. He would have to make small talk with classmates and teachers. The "noteworthy" guests likely wouldn't be anyone of consequence. Charlotte would be clinging to his arm all evening. Valeria would probably be lurking nearby most of the time.

The previous day he had begun to hope the event would be cancelled, and had even entertained several ideas to make it so. The whole purpose had been to have a pretense for spending more time with Charlotte. As they were now a couple, it had served that purpose and there was no longer any real reason to go. He didn't think it could provide him with any advantage.

He was just imagining himself powerful enough to jinx the staircases so no one could get to the fourth floor, where the party was being held, when Charlotte made her appearance.

Having already selected a number of flattering things to charm her with throughout the evening, he had planned to tell her she looked 'incredibly beautiful'. He had not anticipated that he would truly  _feel_ that she was beautiful. No analysis of her features to conclude that she was indeed attractive—there was no need for that. The moment he caught sight of her emerging from the passage to the girls' dormitory, and as he watched her walk across the common room, he didn't just  _know_  she was beautiful, he felt it.

He had not often seen her exhibit such confidence before. As she came towards him, she glanced around the room—not in a cautious, shy or fearful way, but with her chin raised, and as if making sure everyone saw her. He supposed that was the effect of all those parties of the wizard elite, the high society galas and  _soirées,_ as she would call them. He realized that this attitude of hers might interfere with acts of manipulating her. With her being more sure of herself, there was less space for him to impose his own beliefs on her. Still, it couldn't be helped that he would only be attracted to someone who possessed some of those qualities that were also counterproductive to his goals. The key was not to  _tell_ her that he found her confidence alluring. That would most certainly be counterproductive.

One of their classmates had stopped her and the two of them were talking now. He was glad of this; it gave him time to refocus his thoughts. Standing up, he collected the neatly wrapped parcel, her present, from beside him. She joined him a few moments later. Noticing the gift immediately, a slight look of embarrassment crossed her face. He supposed she hadn't gotten him anything—just as well, he didn't want trinkets from her anyway; but she felt guilty about it.

Despite having Valeria's useless embellishments, her gown did look rather nice; he was partial to dark colors, and it fit that description, depicting a starlit winter sky, with faint lines appearing every so often to illustrate the constellations. He'd thought that some degree of genuine attraction to Charlotte would make it easier to tell her the things she needed to hear in order to love him. It seemed, however, that the presence of truth in his words made them more difficult to say. "You look lovely," he managed. "Uh," he thrust the gift forward, "this is for you." He put spaces between the words with difficulty—and it showed. There was none of his usual smoothness. He wasn't sure whether or not it was comforting that Charlotte would find a perfectly reasonable explanation for his lack of poise in that it was normal for someone in his place to be nervous, but he tried to make it a positive thought. He needed some optimism right about then.

"I'm sure you'll notice Valeria's artistic touch..." She was too distracted by the twinkling pendant in her hand to notice the hint of derision in his voice.

"Val designed it, but you did the enchantments?" she asked. Her face now turned towards him, he felt the onslaught of all those unpleasant sensations once again. There was too much... sweetness, in her smile. In her eyes, especially. He couldn't look at her.

"That's right," he answered with his gaze lowered. As if examining his handiwork on the piece of jewelry.

"It's beautiful, thank you." The affection in her voice had waned. He couldn't be as relieved about this as he would have liked, because it meant he was failing to convince her of his love.

"Let me put it on you," he said, raising his eyes to meet hers again. He smiled. The thought of his deceit helped.

He could have completed the task with magic, without touching her at all. But that would hardly have the same impact on her. He traced his thumb along her collarbone as he pushed her hair out of the way. Making every movement slow and drawn-out, he brushed his fingers through to the ends of her curls as he gathered them to one side.

Rather than holding her eye contact while doing this, he watched his own motions. He hadn't forgotten their walk earlier that week, and the part her eyes had played in his temptation to kiss her. He had realized he was going to have to do it sooner or later, but the unwelcome stares of the other Slytherins ensured their lips would not touch so long as they were in the common room. Standing there and putting the necklace on her was bad enough; it too had an air of intimacy about it.

He was glad of the enchantment, suggested by Valeria's design, that made the clasp very easy to fasten. He'd chanced a look at her face as he hooked the pieces together, and was overwhelmed once again. For a moment, he regretted not kissing her the other day. Maybe, if he had, he wouldn't want to now. Maybe the wish would vanish once his curiosity was satisfied. It wasn't so much that he desired it, to kiss her, but that he was being driven by a sense that he  _could_. They were so close. It would only require moving a few inches more.

He wasn't sure which annoyed him more—the fact that, in spite of his hatred of love, he still felt an urge to do something so inextricably tied to romance, or the fact that he couldn't act on that desire right then.

Focusing more on his hands again instead, he straightened the necklace, unnecessarily adjusting it just for something to do. He became aware of Charlotte's pulse at his fingertips, not quite racing, but certainly elevated. He wished he wasn't similarly afflicted. It felt like his body was rebelling against his control.

"Shall we go?" He offered her his arm, as it was the customary thing to do, although he would have preferred she keep her distance. As they proceeded out of the common room, he couldn't help but notice the range of expressions following them. Lovesickness, which he tried to ignore. Envy, worn by some with a hint of anger—probably because they thought Slughorn's favoritism was unfair. Admiration, making him feel a bit more pleased about the whole situation. He would prefer to be admired for something else, but the sensation was the same, and it felt right. He ought to be admired.

As they climbed stairs, he noticed Charlotte with her hand on the necklace, looking a little lost in thought.

"I hope you aren't feeling sorry about not having gotten me anything," he said quietly.

"It's a very good gift, Tom. Plenty of boys would have picked up a box of chocolates at Honeydukes and been done with it." So he'd impressed her. That was good. Although he was starting to think he didn't need to try so hard. "And, yes, I feel I should have gotten you something," she added a little defiantly.

"If it makes you feel any better, it was Valeria's idea as well as her design. She's really the one you should be thanking." It certainly made  _him_ feel better to think that.

"Still more effort than buying chocolate." She laughed. He didn't debate with her anymore over it. His mind became occupied with something else. Their impending kiss still weighing on him, an idea was forming. When they reached the fourth floor, they would find a bundle of mistletoe springs hanging, tucked in a corner. He remembered because he had come across a couple entwined there earlier that day. This, he had realized with resignation, was in his future as well; necessity made it so. But he had also realized, and further proven to himself already that evening, that he didn't mind the idea of the physical aspects of romance as much as he had previously thought. Anyway, if he had to partake in them, he might as well enjoy it.

It hadn't occurred to him then just how similar of a scene it would be. Assuming the mistletoe hadn't been removed, he would draw Charlotte's attention to it and— They turned a corner. It was there.

"Charlotte?" he began, gradually bringing them to a halt, "You're very knowledgeable about plants; would you tell me what that is?" He pointed upwards, a little ahead, not yet directly over them. Nervousness, unfamiliar and unpleasant, began to creep back into him.

"Well," she began, taking a step forward as she stared up at it. "It isn't a magical plant... But, I recognize it." Now standing beneath it, she looked over her shoulder back at him, finding that he had followed her at a distance. "It's mistletoe," she said at last, then turning to face him as he took the final step to join her.

"I thought so," he said softly. Looking at her now, he didn't feel as drawn to her as he had earlier in the common room—how ironic. But she seemed to be waiting for him to make the last move. And he felt frozen. At last willing himself into action, he started to move closer to her, but instead of finding out right then what a kiss felt like, he tried to postpone it. In his pride, he kept his voice calm, unwilling to let himself sound anxious. "You know someone could come around the corner at any moment."

This did not at all influence her in the way he was hoping. With one arm around his shoulders she pulled them closer together and whispered, "Then you'd better hurry up and kiss me." Having to accept that there was no way out, and with marked resentment towards his one-minute-ago-self for getting him into this situation, he did.

He soon found himself feeling generously forgiving. The resentment faded as unthinking passion replaced it. It hadn't been a mistake at all. How could it be when he wanted more? Her touch was too light. Her body was too hidden. The space between them was too much. Her kisses weren't enough.

Normally he preferred to keep his distance from people. Physical contact was a discomfort. But not this. This was different. Charlotte could get as close to him as she wanted—or, as  _he_  wanted. The closer the better. ...Only not then, not there.

On this account, he made himself stop. "I— should remember my own words..." he said in an exhale.

She gave a small nod and laugh, while making her hair neat again. "It did catch me off guard. I wasn't expecting anything like that, after your hesitance." He couldn't tell from the way she spoke whether she was pleased about this or not. He supposed it didn't matter anyway.

He noticed that the pointless and cumbersome looking fur thing Charlotte had had around her arms had, of course, fallen on the floor. As he retrieved it with magic and handed it back to her, he considered teasing her about coming undressed—it was technically an article of clothing she was no longer wearing—but determined it was better kept to himself. Or better still, banished from his mind completely.

Charlotte placed her palm against his face and kissed the opposite cheek. "Let's go." She smiled. He wanted even less to attend the party now, when there was such a tantalizing alternative. But he knew it would be foolish to even suggest...

They stepped into the crowded room. It seemed Slughorn had tried to fit as much festivity as possible into that—not small, but not vast—space, an empty classroom he had gotten use of. Tom was not inclined to take part in any of the merriment, nor even to talk to anyone, so he chose to let Charlotte decide where they would end up. With her arm on his, she subtly pulled him along as she approached various classmates, greeting them, sometimes exchanging compliments, constantly showing a joyful smile. His expression was best described as a ghost of a smile, the bare minimum to make it seem like he wasn't miserable.

A lengthier conversation left his mind to wander. This was perhaps the single advantage to being paired with someone for the evening; it saved him a considerable amount of annoyance, of feigning an interest in other people. Had he been on his own, there would have been no escaping the need to engage, but now that he and Charlotte were 'an item', as people said, it seemed only one of them needed to speak. And he was more than happy for that person  _not_  to be him.

Currently, Charlotte was discussing music with Calliope Yuille. Her invitation based on her voice and not her magic, she was the star of their choir, and, apparently, that made her worthy. She wasn't the only questionably selected student in attendance. He recognized the Slytherin Quidditch captain, Winky Crockett, and thought that Slughorn's standards for who deserved an invitation really had dropped dramatically. Then again, he reflected as he caught sight of Valeria, making her way over to the sixth year, maybe the professor's standards had always been too low.

What mattered in a person to Slughorn was potential for fame, no matter what avenue they took to attain that; he collected people who seemed like they would gain renown later in life. There was something to be said for it—influence almost always accompanied fame, and Tom could plainly see the appeal in  _that._ But those people would certainly have their own agenda, their own goals. In place of a mutually beneficial connection, as their professor offered, Tom was more interested in holding a clear position of power over others who would serve him. They would find advantage in following him, but his own advantage would far outweigh whatever they thought they were getting.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Calliope suddenly turning to him and asking how he was finding the party. Since he couldn't say  _terrible_ , he opted for "It's been a good evening so far." The truth of which had nothing to do with the party, but was obscured in ambiguity so as to make her think he was answering the question. In his peripheral vision, he could see Charlotte turn to look at him.

"It has, hasn't it?" she said. He didn't want to look at her— _couldn't_ look at her, not when their shared expression would lead Calliope to deduce that something had happened between them. The last thing he wanted was that sort of gossip making its way through the school. But the girl's hasty closure of the conversation following that, and the amused smile she wore, suggested she had reached that conclusion anyway. Was it too much to ask for Charlotte to be a little more discreet?

"Oh, there's someone else I know," she said brightly, nodding in the direction of a man, obviously one of the _esteemed guests_ , who was sampling a peppermint snowflake from the desserts table.

"Shall we go say hello?"

Charlotte looked at him as though she were going to agree, but her smile faded and she fell into thought. "It might be better if I go and you... have a chat with someone else?" He found this a strange request, as she had been eager enough for everyone else to see them together. "If he meets you, the next time he sees my mother or my father he's going to tell them, and then they'll send me a letter wanting to know all about you and… what family you're from…"

Tom was certain he wasn't completely concealing his anger. "So this is about me not being pure-blood." Conveniently, he was in truth less upset by Charlotte's concern about this than he was by it being a fact. He continued before she could say anything apologetic. "I understand," he said in a deceptively calm tone. "And I recognize that this is neither the time nor the place to discuss that. It can wait." His prudent response made her affection for him become incredibly visible. "If he sees you staring at me like that, it won't matter that we weren't introduced. I'll meet you on the other side of the room after you've spoken with him." He left her to wonder just how upset by her preoccupation with blood purity he was, and to figure it out for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too long working on certain sections of this... hopefully my work paid off; I'd love to hear what you thought of it!  
> I also have a specific question: would it be helpful/do you think I need to include notes about what I've used from the original canon versus what I've added myself? I mean with regard to characters and items or even spells. Given that my goal is to make my ideas blend in with Rowling's (or in some cases, the filmmakers), so that it is more enjoyable to read, but I also feel like I ought to give credit so you are certain what's what. I love including all the details I can, and spend far too much time on the HP wiki literally doing research for this, haha. But I also have to fill in a lot of unknowns, which of course I enjoy getting to do.  
> Similarly, you've probably noticed that I'm sticking to using only the last names for Lestrange and Avery; it's because I feel like it isn't my place to give them first names, haha.


	7. The Promise of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my wonderful readers! Here is the next chapter, covering some of Charlotte's perspective at the party, as well as a big piece of character development. (!)  
> Also Professor Slughorn makes an appearance, along with three new characters.

Charlotte hoped that conversation didn't happen any time soon; she didn't plan on bringing it up, and hoped Tom would avoid it as well.

What would she say when that time came? That she hadn't let it concern her earlier on because she wasn't taking their relationship seriously yet? That she cared more about upholding some tradition that he would call meaningless than she cared about him? That he wasn't worthy of her simply because he had muggles for ancestors? She knew this at least wasn't true. But then why was it so difficult to dismiss?

Pushing all of this out of her mind, she approached the man she had recognized. "How unexpected to see you here! And how are you, Mr. Carlisle?"

"Ah, Charlotte Soleil! I might have known you would be among Horace's favorites," he greeted her genially. "I'm well enough. How about yourself?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you," she replied.

"And how are your mother and father?" he asked. "Give them my regards when you see them, won't you?"

"They're both fine, and I will." She smiled, but was not eager to speak of her parents at that time. "Coming to Hogwarts as an adult—it must be strange for you," she commented, changing the subject.

"Strange? You could say that. I think it's something of a treat. Certainly it's nice to see that most things are the same as they've always been."

"What's changed?" Charlotte asked with a smile, thinking she was humoring him so he could make some facetious slight about how things were better when he was a student.

The smile he gave in return had a touch of sympathy in it. She had been mistaken in thinking there would be a lighthearted remark to follow. "Well the security precautions, for one—not that I'm opposed to that. We want all you young people safe." She wanted to ask what Grindelwald and his followers, for that was surely who these extra defenses were put in place against, could possibly want from the students of Hogwarts, but she trusted that if Mr. Carlisle had reason to believe the safety measures were necessary, that was all she really needed to know; there was no reason to dwell on grim possibilities. And anyway, he quickly segued to another, much less heavy subject. "My eldest starts next year, you know. You remember my daughter?"

"Yes, of course. Sophia," she answered. "I remember Elijah as well. His first year will be the year after, won't it?"

"That's right." He nodded with a smile.

She remembered them well. The whole family had been in attendance at a social event during the Soleils' first summer in England, and the Carlisle children had taken an immediate liking to her. They had wanted to know all about France. She discovered the curiosity of young children was very different to the curiosity of her classmates; she'd answered question after question and felt far more at ease than she would have expected. She'd listened to them excitedly share that they too knew French, or at least enough to tell her their ages,  _huit_ and  _neuf_. It was a precious moment of serenity that she still cherished, even in spite of how—or perhaps because of the fact that—she had been unable to hide her sadness from them.  _You seem blue_. Sofia had said it outright, while her younger brother nodded in agreement. What was it about that child's face? She'd told them both of all her troubles, sparing only the details that were too much for a child to hear. She had told no one since, not even Valeria, not with the same openness. She wondered if they remembered.

"Now that's something strange." Mr. Carlisle pulled her from her memory with his musing. "The way being a parent makes you worry and stress phenomenally—especially in these times—about the lives that they'll have. You'd think that all that fear would make you regret it. But the joy those two bring me is immeasurable." He shook his head, and chuckled at himself. "This probably doesn't make much sense to you. Truthfully, I don't quite understand it myself." He became lost in thought again when Charlotte, her mind turning accusatory, didn't reply. Wasn't he being selfish? If he thought the lives of his children would be so difficult, why bring them into the world? Apologetic, but, for his own part, overjoyed by their existence—how could it not be selfish?

"What it really comes down to is hope, that they'll make choices that improve our world. Being here has reminded me of that. All of you are our hope." As he shared where his thoughts had wandered to, his calm demeanor did nothing to sooth the invisible storm in Charlotte; in fact, it enraged her further. Could they bask in 'hope' as he did? ...And what if those children vanished away all of those hopes, in one single decision.

The anger turned to self-pity; a clap of thunder heralding the abrupt fall of rain.

She tried to revive some sense of ease and lightheartedness in herself, achieving slight success at the sight of Mr. Carlisle's sudden grin, as he held up a hand in greeting. Charlotte turned to see Professor Slughorn coming towards them. "Nicodemus!" he cried. "Enjoying yourself?" Mr. Carlisle smiled broadly and dipped his head. Not waiting for further, verbal affirmation, the professor carried on, "I see you've met Miss Soleil?"

"Miss Soleil and I are in fact already acquainted."

"Oh? Through her mother, I presume?" He turned to Charlotte. "We potionsmasters are a tightly knit group," he said squeezing his hand into a fist to emphasize the closeness of his colleagues. "One you may be a part of yourself someday soon. With your connections, you would hardly even need my help!" He let out a guffaw.

"An excess of good recommendations never did anyone any harm," she answered pleasantly. "It was very nice to see you again, Mr. Carlisle." She smiled and excused herself from their conversation.

She didn't feel inclined to look for Tom, who was at the heart of her present suffering, or Valeria, who would only offer more of the joyfulness that somehow had become oppressive. Had she been at a party hosted in her own home, she would have certainly fled to the balcony. Fresh air and quiet would clear her mind. But neither were anywhere to be found here.

"Soleil!" called a voice she didn't recognize. She didn't recognize the boy it belonged to either. He looked a little familiar, maybe, but she supposed that could simply be from seeing him around the school. She knew he wasn't in Slytherin, and he looked older than a fifth year, so their paths wouldn't have crossed much. He had made his way over to where she'd stopped when he called her name. "I wondered if you might want to dance with me?"

"Someone who isn't aware of my relationship with Tom Riddle, how refreshing." She assumed this was the case, or else he wouldn't have been so bold.

"Ah, so it's true then." He glanced over his shoulder at a girl who was leaning against a wall a short distance off and was watching with an amused smile. She came towards them as the boy continued speaking to Charlotte. "I didn't think it fair to assume, just because you came to this party together—"

"I was right then, was I?" The boy, who Charlotte still could not place, received an elbow in the side.

Still more focused on explaining himself, he motioned to the girl and said, "I invited Elizabeth as a friend."

She held a hand out to Charlotte. "Elizabeth Greene."

Sensing that there was no need to introduce herself, Charlotte only replied, "It's nice to meet you," as she shook her hand. " _You_  still haven't introduced  _your_ self," she added to the boy.

"Ooh," Elizabeth interjected, something catching her attention, "I'm just going to nip over to the dessert table. They're serving the gingerbread house."

Charlotte looked in that direction to see that  _they_ meant the gingerbread people, who had earlier been playing in the snow, or shredded coconut, around the house—which was really more like a castle. Equipped with miniature saw-like knives, they were now deconstructing the building.

"Every time Elliot buys me sweets, he ends up eating two-thirds of them himself, have you noticed?" Elizabeth said to her friend as she started across the room.

"You're asking the wrong guy. I'm not the observant one, am I?" He laughed. "Although  _Nigel_  would probably point out that you  _let_  Elliot get away with that."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but grinned and said nothing else as she left them. 'Unobservant' turned back to Charlotte with a chuckle. "Sorry, didn't mean to exclude you. I'm Oliver," he said at last.

"Pleased to meet you," she replied a bit uncertainly.

"I suppose I startled you, calling your name like that when you didn't know who I was. But you must know that everyone knows who you are," he said, his tone not settling decisively on either statement or question. "Your father is Jean-Marc Soleil, I believe? Regardless of whether I have his name correct—"

"You do." Charlotte smiled. His pronunciation was above average.

Oliver continued with a grin. "I know that he works with the International Confederation of Wizards; so does my mother. So we have that in common."

"Oh?" She was intrigued. "Who is your mother?"

"Amelia Winship."

"I can't say I recognize the name, but it's possible I've met her without realizing it."

There was something about this that he found amusing, but he did not share it with her. He might have been about to, but Tom's sudden arrival at her side brought their conversation to a close.

"There you are," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I was beginning to consider that you had abandoned me, but I know you wouldn't do that." His arm fell to his side, although his fingers skated halfway down her arm before he broke contact with her. A gentle touch—in sharp contrast to the firmness with which he had held her a moment before.

Before Charlotte could make formal introductions between the two of them, Oliver spoke. "I'm sure you can't be worried about spending the evening alone." It could have been complimentary, but somehow that intention, if it was there at all, did not come across.

"No, thankfully I'm not lonely and seeking the attention of whoever might be willing to offer it," Tom replied. The acidity in his tone, mild but certainly present, startled Charlotte. She couldn't understand what was prompting this attitude towards Oliver. Unless this small interaction of hers with another boy had ignited a spark of jealousy in him? But surely not... "If I'm not spending this time with Charlotte, I don't see the point of being here. It is  _only her_ company that interest me." He had no reason to be jealous. None at all.

"We'll exchange stories some other time." She smiled at Oliver and then at Tom, hoping to end the encounter without weakening her relationship with either. "Oliver's mother and my father both work with the International Confederation of Wizards," she explained, to which she received no reply, only a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"I certainly don't want to keep you from your date," Oliver said pleasantly, returning her smile. No damage done there then.

Tom's irritation was calmed as they parted ways. As the two of them wove their way past other guests, Charlotte stretched a hand towards him before she remembered she was trying not to draw attention to them as a couple. "I'd like to take your arm right now, but..." Tom waved her explanation away.

She needed for him to know that she didn't want things to change between them, not in a way that meant growing more distant. Her hesitation for Mr. Carlisle to see them together must have led to some insecurity; it was strange to think of him as being any kind of insecure—although it did help explain his reaction to her conversation with Oliver.

They were surrounded by people on all sides, but, counter-intuitive as it felt, being in the midst of the crowd would make their conversation more private. She stepped in front of him. "You know, what you said a minute ago—" She had been intending to describe how it made her feel important and that she wasn't sure what she'd done to earn such loyalty or devotion from him, but she was struck by another idea. "If I'm the only one whose company you want, why don't we leave?"

A surprised smile flickered onto his face, although he hid it away again to ask, "Would you mind missing out on everything here?"

She had her fingers clasped together in front of her now, feeling that she would forget herself and end up holding on to him anyway if she didn't occupy her hands somehow. "I think I'm missing out on more by being here," she answered. "And I don't want to leave tomorrow with any misunderstanding still between us." She took deep breaths to calm the rhythm of her heart, hoping to regain the courage that had overtaken her a moment ago.

"That seems a good idea." Tom stared at her a moment longer before turning and making his way towards the door.

"I just want to find someplace quiet," Charlotte said once they were in the hallway. "This way." He seemed uncertain as she took his hand, but she sent a smile over her shoulder and carried on forward. This was under her initiative; she had to follow through on it now.

She pulled her wand out from its pocket that Valeria had wisely included in the outfit. "I don't know why they bother locking these doors— _alohomora_ —it isn't as if that's much of a deterrent." Tom chuckled behind her as they stepped into the room.

There was barely a second's pause between the door closing and her kissing him. Once again, what she had planned was swept aside by some spur of the moment whim. He hadn't expected it either, clearly. His shoulders, where her hands rested, were tensed; it seemed more like he was letting himself be kissed rather than truly being involved in it. She stopped, but found herself wishing that could have been enough. Saying the words aloud was so much harder, and she still wasn't sure what she could say if he questioned her. But there was no avoiding the topic now.

"Can you forgive that I'm not yet ready to handle the confrontation of my family?" she asked softly, still with her arms around him—gradually, he was relaxing. He was returning her embrace now.

"...Not yet..." he repeated, deep in his own thoughts. Charlotte felt her waist constricted and then released in a startled manner as Tom suddenly became aware of how tightly he had had her held to him. A flash of concern went through her that his words had been an answer to her question, and not the pensive reflection she had first taken them to be. But he took her hand, not angry at all, and said, "Truthfully, I'm surprised at your willingness to even consider that." Her aim was to reassure him, not to show how uncertain she was, so she didn't point out that what she had said did not imply actively seeking a confrontation, nor could she even imagine doing such a thing; she wondered just how serious he believed her intentions to be. She wondered just how serious her intentions could become.

"Then again," he continued, "it isn't unprecedented that I win over your kind in the end." It was a reference to his friends, many of them pure-bloods like her.  _Your kind_. The juxtaposition of those words and the wizard who spoke them made the concept seem especially absurd, in a way that she had never before considered. "I've earned their respect and admiration, in spite of their typical opinion of people like me." And that—what he referred to as 'their typical opinion'—that was prejudice. It was wrong of them. Charlotte felt she had never perceived this with so much clarity. But it was such a negative word. That couldn't apply to her. ...And if they  _were_ truly superior, how could there be any harm in acting like it?

It was a feeble attempt at reasoning her way back into comfort. She knew it even then. Pretending such a view was harmless was complete folly.

Her mother, in describing her work, had once said she selected half-blood witches and wizards for certain important tasks. Muggle-borns couldn't be trusted, and likely were not competent enough either; these were the more experimental projects, which made them dangerous, too risky to gamble to precious life of a pure-blood on. The thought of all half-bloods being written off as disposable, when someone like Tom existed, made her heart lurch.

"Are you al— No, something has upset you. What are you thinking about, Charlotte?" She only shook her head. "You aren't going to tell me?"

"It's something I'm still making sense of myself."

She returned home the following day with an unsettled feeling that the world she was reentering would not look the same as she had left it, already sensing her shifting beliefs. Dread, although numbed by shock, had a physical presence, like a symptom of illness. If it was a sickness, then, what remained to be seen was whether she would recover permanently weakened, or be made stronger by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hefty dose of irony here in that Voldemort, while actively cultivating prejudice in others, causes Charlotte to reexamine her beliefs as a pure-blood (even if he isn't doing it knowingly at this point). I have sooo many thoughts on how this will affect each of them and I'm really excited to share that exploration throughout the rest of the story.  
> I am very eager to know your thoughts on this chapter, especially the last scene. Did Charlotte's realizations seem fitting and in character, or were they too sudden? And did it seem believable that she went against her initial instincts to avoid discussing her pure-blood beliefs, or while reading were you questioning her sudden change of heart?  
> I personally feel that it is a strong chapter overall. But a major theme of this story is the danger of simply seeing what you want to see and the importance of instead learning to search out and accept truth, so. I mean, the stakes here are a little lower, but you get my point, haha.  
> Comments about anything else you noticed would be most welcome too, of course.


End file.
